My Adulterous Wife
by Mikarin Aoi
Summary: When Emmett learns of his wife's infidelity, what will he do for Rosalie to stop her sexual vice?
1. Solace for Adulterers

My Adulterous Wife, a twilight fanfic

By Mikarin Aoi

**Summary:** When Emmett learns of his wife's infidelity, what will he do for Rosalie to stop her sexual vice?

**Warning:** Rated M for Mature content & B for Bondage **Genre:** Hurt/Comfort/Angst, Alternate Universe **Pairing:** Emmett/Rosalie and Edward/Bella (All Human)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note:** I have a feeling that the only ones who will be able to relate to this story are people who actually know the pain of infidelity… who have experienced the pain firsthand… like me. I guess I'll just have to see for myself in whatever feedback I get through reviews…

**IMPORTANT!** Just like my first fanfic "_The Only Way_," this story has **_disturbing matters_** and just like I used the dark personalities of Carlisle and Esme there, in this one, Emmett and Rosalie's and even Edward's dark sides will be revealed, which to you, dear reader, will most likely be "out of character." I seemingly like writing the dark personalities of fictional characters…

Same **warning** as I had in "_The Only Way_"… This is about a painful, dysfunctional relationship which includes disgrace, humiliation, shame, and bondage (**NOT** the mild/safe/consensual BDSM most readers are more familiar with). **_I advise whoever finds this offensive that you go back to the previous page and skip this awfully depressing, disconcerting read._** It isn't my intention to bring forth any unpleasant memories through this written work of art.

**_I dedicate this fanfic to my fiancé_**_. Our relationship inspired me to write this story, love. Te amo._

**~Aoi.**

**~Chapter One~**

**_Solace for Adulterers_**

_November 2012_

Of course I couldn't disagree to anyone claiming that my wife's beauty was otherworldly. Her beauty was ethereal, and the vision of her perfectly shaped figure was something so forbidden, that in her presence alone, you can drown from the sin of observing her perfection, blessed by the fact that you're alive to witness such flawlessness.

Skin as pale as the splendid magnificence of the moon, lips as red as the garnet stone studded in her engagement ring, eyes tinted so deep between the mixtures of a blue rose and the fragile tenderness of the shade found in violets, hair the color of fine riches in a merchant's pocket falling down her back in cascading waves, its texture as fine and smooth as silk.

Milk and honey, that's what she was to me.

Milk denoted everything about her. Her elegance, her genteel presence, the refined manners she upheld, the smoothness in her ringing bell-like voice, the shy color of her skin, it all reminded me of milk.

Honey was for her absolute charm, her innate ability to draw human beings as easily as attracting hungry bees with their jealous stings, ready to penetrate her skin and kill her off with their spiteful venom, wanting to rid the Earth of her unnatural beauty which they were all envious of.

Her name, as delicate as how she looks, composed of two flowers as beautiful as she. The elegant grace one sees in a rose, combined with the sprightly life one finds in a lily make up her identity as Rosalie. Her parents have always been fascinated by their daughter's beauty ever since her birth and so decided that one name wasn't enough to make her special. They added Lillian, adding more lilies to her personality.

Being her husband made me more blessed than anyone else. More lucky than any other man could be. I should feel ecstatic that the world's most beautiful woman belonged to me. I should love her as much as she loves her beauty. I should. But I don't. One thing her beauty didn't account for, was her inner attitude that she kept so well hidden in front of other's wondrous gaze they laid upon her.

Only I knew who she really was. Who that woman was under all those glittering clothes, how she behaved when eyes were turned away, what she was doing behind my back, hidden from the world, I knew her deepest and innermost secrets. Why wouldn't I know? She is my wife, after all… And though she thinks I wouldn't figure it out, she underestimated my sense of intuition. She can't hide anything from me. Ever since I slid that engagement ring on her finger, I've known everything about her. Known all she was capable of doing. The _one_ thing that she was _more than_ capable of doing was something that came so easily to someone as beautiful as her.

Since before she said yes to my proposal, I already knew she had plenty of other suitors, probably more suitable than I was for her. But she chose me. Now, I know I should be content that she chose me, but even though she did so, she didn't settle down. I'd expect this from rich men who'd marry but never really "settle." But in this case, the rich, young beauty from the Cullen family was the one who couldn't settle even though she's already married.

"Mr. McCarty?"

Turning my gaze away from the poisonous bitch that was my wife, I met the green eyes of Edward Anthony Masen, Jr., the host of this uneventful gala my wife loved attending. Who incidentally was also the man she was fucking behind my back. Who, for some distasteful twist in this story, was also the husband of Rosalie's younger sister Isabella.

The Cullens consist of Carlisle and Esme, parents to Jasper, Rosalie Lillian and Isabella Marie and parents-in-law to me, Edward and Alice, Jasper's wife. Edward here, our host for tonight, is Bella's husband, therefore, the brother-in-law of Rosalie.

What would happen, I wondered, if Bella were to find out that the sister she so loathes, was fucking her husband? And what would happen to Edward if his wife found out? Ah, a scandal this huge would be worth so much to paparazzi. But I didn't intend for this to get out. I had different plans in mind. I'd handle this in my own way.

"Mr. Masen," I acknowledged with a courteous nod.

He handed me a wineglass filled with the best red wine Italy can offer, the Brunello di Montalcino. I had to admit, our host here had fine taste in wine that spoke of both wealth and class. We both sipped our drinks in silence, both of us scanning the room filled with all kinds of socialites, both our wives amongst the throngs of people.

"Wonderful evening, isn't it?" he then spoke up, pissing me off that he broke the decent, civil silence that was going on between us just seconds ago.

"Absolutely."

I kept my words to a minimum, trying to rein my anger in. I knew very well it wasn't Edward's idea to be fucking my wife. Rosalie was a goddamn natural when it came to seducing. I couldn't blame Edward for giving in to the luscious temptation especially with the way my wife kept emanating all these pheromones, latching it onto every person that moved.

"Will you be bidding at the auction?"

For some reason, this bastard didn't pick up on my hint of unwillingness to respond with longer sentences, clearly stating that conversing with him wasn't something I was eager about.

"If there's something that'll interest me," I answered curtly. "But most likely, Rosalie will find something that's worth her interest."

Watching him closely, I was impressed that no reaction whatsoever came from the mention of my wife's name. Instead, he replied with, "I guess I'll see both you and your wife in the Grand Hall, then" and left with a polite nod.

_'Fuck, I want this goddamn night to be over already. If only Rosalie wasn't into all this shit–'_

"Darling!"

_'Speak of the devil and she always appears.'_

From afar, I watched how my wife sauntered over to me, stunning as hell in that glitzy red gown that reached the floor. Why women always felt the need to sweep the floors clean with those floor-length gowns of theirs, I had no idea. But damn those designers for making such revealing gowns to be so fucking tempting.

No matter how much I despised my wife for cheating, I wanted to just rip that red piece into shreds and fuck her while she's just in those outrageously high heels of hers. Damn her, only she had the ability to make me feel this pathetic.

Champagne in one hand, she made her way to me. The sway in her hips was hypnotic, and those two slits on the sides of her dress showed off her gorgeous legs that I wanted to spread apart, making the mound of her pussy visible to me.

_'Fuck, calm yourself, man,' _I cursed inwardly.

Things didn't get any better as my eyes dropped to her breasts, swelling brazenly under the V-shape neckline, her cleavage such a seductive sight, an open invitation to stare. God, that woman is the death of my existence, of _any_ man's existence, for that matter. It was an excruciatingly difficult task to be angry at such a cheating whore if all I can think of is her writhing body under mine as I pound into that wet cunt of hers.

"There you are, I was looking for you!" she trilled from afar, catching the attention of some people who turned around to see who she was referring to.

As she arrived by my side, she quickly dropped a kiss on my cheek then slid her arm around mine, her hands eagerly clinging onto the material of my suit jacket, her fingers sending my mind reeling as they trailed along my arm. She always had this hypnotizing effect whenever she touched me, even through the thickest of clothing.

"The auctions' about to begin, let's go, baby," she chirped happily, already pulling me in the direction to the Grand Hall.

Keeping her in full sight during the event, I watched how she spent time talking to Edward and to another man I didn't recognize. The auction was boring as hell. Nothing of interest came up on the stage, but my wife ended up buying three totally unimportant things that would only take up more space in our home. My anger seemed to ebb away during the endless dross being shown onstage, until I caught sight of her hand, which was resting on Edward's thigh, sliding back and forth on the fabric covering his leg, while her other hand rested on the other guy's arm.

Bitch was going too far.

Just a little more and I'd be ready to explode. How can she just think I'd never figure it out, if she was as blatant as a drunkard lying to a sober person?

I wasn't one to meddle into relationships, but suddenly, the thought of telling Bella occurred to me. Though she and Rosalie were never the best of friends, in fact, the total opposite, I still cared for her since she was my sister-in-law after all. But if she'd find out through me that Edward was cheating, she wouldn't be able to handle the pain as much as I'm able to keep control of my own within myself.

Bella's self-destructive nature would return and who knows, might end her up in rehabilitation again. Edward was the one who helped her out of it. How ironic that he'll become part of the reason why she'd start using and cutting again.

My anger resurfaced and part of it was for Bella, if only she knew what her older sister was doing. I needed to teach my wife a lesson until she'd stop being this slut who even had the galls to steal her own sister's husband through sex. And afterwards, Edward would get a piece of what he deserves. But let's begin with my wife. She, after all, is the core and bane of this family dilemma.

~o~

Waiting by the driveway leading up to Edward's mansion for my car to be brought out front, my wife's voice from behind me made me turn around.

"Hey, darling, you go head on home. My signature's still required on the things I bought at the auction. I'll just call our driver to take me home when I'm done."

That was an awful lie to tell me. I already knew who'd be driving her home.

"I can wait. It won't take long, right?"

"No, baby, go on home," she opposed, a little too quick, in my opinion. "You did tell me you have a massive headache, right? Besides, I might stay for the after-party. You know how much I love dancing," she quickly added with a smile.

Oh, I knew she did. She loved it as much as she loved fucking.

"You sure, babe?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you at home, all right?"

Rosalie then leaned into my body, and I flinched at the absurdity of this relationship.

"Take something for your headache, but don't go to sleep yet. I have a surprise for you," she whispered against my ear, and the sudden flick of her tongue across my earlobe sent a new refreshed wave of loathing for this bitch, knowing very well she'd be licking something else on someone who wasn't me. The thought alone sickened me to my very core.

"I'll see you at home, then."

I resisted the urge to sound so biting and to cover the hatred that was easily bubbling up to the surface; I cupped her cheeks and bent down to plant a little kiss on her lips. Those lips that had the aftertaste of the strawberry found at the bottom of the champagne flute effortlessly transferred the slight trace of ripe sweetness that now lingered on my own lips.

I was irritated that she left a hint of her on me. I didn't _want_ anything of her _on_ me. I was utterly disgusted.

"Drive home safely, darling," she called out to me as I walked to my car.

Receiving my keys from the valet, I turned around one last time to find the wife that I so loathed giving me a little wave of her hand, granting me that fake, forced smile of hers. So after a curt wave of my hand in return, I got into my car and drove away, relieved to finally be out of her toxic range.

[_Rosalie_]

As I stood there, watching my husband drive away, I knew we both knew what I was about to do. I was well aware that he was no fool. And the truth of this reality was enough to shatter my soul, killing me inside as it slashed against my heart repeatedly due to my addiction to the carnal urges, too tempting for me to ignore.

Weak, that's what I was.

Weak, pathetic, a liar, a cheater. I knew this very well. But I couldn't stop. And neither could he.

Neither could Edward.

"Is he gone?"

His voice alone weakened my senses, and as his hands found my waist, my body fully surrendered and leaned against his.

"Yes," I managed to let out as his palms already found my breasts through my dress. "Edward… not here…"

His nose grazed my cheek then travelled further down until the spark of his lips on my skin met the curve of my neck, his kiss lingering upon my flesh. The silent whisper of his words against my ear added to the chill running through my body from the icy breeze that swept in the wind.

"I want you right now, Rosalie… Here and now…"

The burning sensation of his hand slipped between the slit of my dress and rested atop my thigh, the current of electricity in his fingertips igniting a soft flicker across my skin as they traced their way up to my center.

"Edward, don't…"

"Don't what, my pretty little rose?" he asked.

The endearment drifting in the wind reached my ears, and combined with his hand fully cupping my entire being, his fingers light grazing across the parted flesh, a digit lightly tapping against my soaking entrance, my senses were overwhelmed, undeniably making me lose myself in this drowning feeling.

"Don't do this here…" I pleaded.

"Turn around and tell me that while you look at me."

With a sharp yank on my arms, I felt my body turn and the incredibly hard virility pressing up against me made my knees weak, the strength of his hands the only support holding me up.

The spicy scent of his cologne was such a delight to my olfactory senses that clouded my sanity, his breath spreading across my lips a mesmerizing tickle sending a shiver down my spine. The red and brown shades in his hair so clearly discernible under the moonlit sky was such a glorious sight, this man was a divine vision in every right. This man was someone I could never deny.

So I couldn't even bring myself to repeat my words. With a moan escaping my lips as his palms rested on my backside under my dress, my legs urged by his hands to wrap around his hips, the amazing lapses of losing consciousness whenever I was with him surprised me once again as I felt myself backed up against the wall of his chamber then falling onto the marital bed he shared with my younger sister.

~o~

Standing before my reflection, all that was visible to everyone else was a naked woman, sated and satisfied in that smile of hers, but no one saw the tragic truth behind that smile or far beyond the sparkle in her eyes. The woman who was drowning in her own tears, her own tears that betrayed her and filled her up inside, her guilt eating away on her soul, her heart being chewed upon by the emptiness she felt from the string of one-night stands.

Countless times, I've tried to break free from the chains that bind me to this wretched addiction. But fighting against something that you find pleasure in was like fighting a losing battle. And so, I found myself every night in another man's bed, instead of taking up the space beside my husband on our marital bed.

When I first met Edward, every cell, every nerve, every vein and even the blood flowing through it changed the reason of their existence. They no longer were meant for me to be alive; they were present inside me to be alive for him. And after he responded to my advances, he became my reason for living.

One night with Edward turned into a lasting affair, both of us trapped in the haze of our lust, our forbidden desire, the ember of our passion never fading into the background but blazing even more with each day that we didn't see each other.

He was my vice.

My obsession.

My addiction.

And if I didn't get my daily dose, I died each time, suffering with the frustrating longing to feel his touch, feel his body, hear his voice, have him deep inside of me.

Emmett is… He is… simply my husband. There was always something missing with him though. He is a good man, a good person, but something inside me just couldn't feel complete with him. I was searching for something I only found with Edward. Even up to now, I was still in the dark as to what Edward had that my husband didn't possess.

Before long, the tears appeared.

Appalled by the ugliness taking over my beauty's reflection, my hands grabbed the sides of the mirror and lifting it over my head, I then smashed the real me into smithereens.

Losing consciousness for one single second, confusion settled in, but as I found myself in the midst of shards of broken glass, a smile crept up my lips, and with the heavy burden on my heart, I dropped to my knees, taking a piece of myself then letting it slide in one quick graze down my forearm.

Exhaling at the instant relief the pain brought about, the weight in my chest seemed to lighten. This was my own form of punishment.

Just as my blood trickled to the floor, _he_ appeared by the doorway.

"Time for punishment?"

I nodded absentmindedly in response.

"Good. I've been waiting," I heard him utter, his words echoing off the blank walls, reverberating through the shattered pieces on the floor, creeping up my body, filling me up with the comfort I knew was about to receive.

I heard him move about until I found myself staring into the depth of his green eyes. Warmth crossed my cheek as his palm rested on it, and as I stayed gazing into the captivating emerald orbs, far beyond the green of the forest, I also found the black emptiness inside him.

"My beautiful broken porcelain doll," he whispered to me before lifting up my forearm.

Unmoving, that was exactly how I felt. And maybe that's what I really was. I watched in amazement as his lips enclosed over the open wound, his tongue licking the blood off, his mouth sucking on it eagerly like his life depended on the nutrition only my blood could provide.

Mere inches from my face, his lips coaxed my own to part as he lightly brushed against them. Too blank to think, my lips parted of their own accord, and his tongue slid alongside mine playfully, the taste of my blood transferring from his tongue to mine, filling the cavern of my mouth with the taste of metal. Our tongues twisting and turning, playing a duet with the notes written in the red ink made up from the liquid we exchanged, my body so effortlessly responded to him. My lover's hands eased me onto the floor, his lips travelling down to capture a pert nipple into his mouth, his tongue smearing the remains of my blood across the tautened peak.

Between these broken pieces, we were two broken souls trying to fit together, but never finding completion despite our myriad attempts, desperate to be complete within one another, something that we both couldn't find in our spouses.

This emotional pain we both shared, combined with the physical pain I endured that kept me sane, this was what kept me going back to him. He made me loathe myself, thus leading me to the delicious moments of my self-infliction of pain, adding to the emotional guilt eating away at me.

This was my life, my only way of life.

Without him, my marriage to Emmett would never work. I needed Edward to keep reminding me that I was married to a man who loved me more than anything money could buy. I needed this pain to slap reality into my face over and over until I finally realize that I have a husband waiting for me to be loyal and stay faithful to him.

Yet all I receive is this.

This, becoming a disgusting addiction that neither I nor Edward can break free from.

As tears turned to blood streaking down our faces, we clung onto each other for hope, realizing that if neither this nor our meaningless strings of one-night stands with random strangers could complete us, then nothing could. This fear was one we shared, one we both understood.

Yes, I needed Edward. And he needed me.

~o~

Expecting my spouse to be awake, there was a certain disappointment coming home to the darkness greeting me in our foyer, engulfing my shattered soul in an eerie attempt to crush me more than I already was. Even the darkness loathed me. Could anyone still even love someone like me?

Walking down the exquisitely decorated halls, the sound of my heels echoing off the empty spaces, my fingers grazing along the breathtaking murals, resting my palms on the cool, smooth surface of the marble pillars, marvelous in holding up our second floor, I took in the sight of the splendor of our mansion.

Ascending the grand stairs, my hand gliding along the polished rails, I knew this was a life I was lucky to have. I was more than content with my riches, content with the luxury in my life. Even content with the man I chose to be my husband. Then what was lacking in my life?

I had all these materials making up a home, nothing less for a woman of my status in society, but I only wanted one thing. The one thing that could make me feel complete. I was still so empty, so broken, so incomplete. For years, I've tried searching for it, and was eager to know what it was when I married Emmett McCarty. But it never showed up.

Marrying Emmett isn't something I regret. He makes me happy, but not complete. Isn't that how one is supposed to feel when one has found their other half? I was – no, am – certain that Emmett is my other half. I've only felt real happiness with him. He was different. He handled me differently. He didn't treat me like other men who just wanted me for my beauty. He wasn't even intimidated by my usual aloofness whenever I was approached by someone lower than myself in society.

The McCarty's were, for quite some time, not a part of the social circle, and I would've never expected myself to be married to someone like him, given the fact that he was just a bartender when we met. After his great-grandmother died, the last McCarty known in the social circle, Emmett, as her only great-grandson, inherited everything in her will, becoming the owner of several bars and restaurants in most part of the west side of this city.

His grandfather and parents weren't too keen on what the will stipulated; knowing full well how much impact owning such a large part in the city would do to their standing in the community. Nevertheless, they respected the last dying wish of the estranged head of the McCarty family.

Emmett's grandfather and parents were simple, humble people who kept to themselves and so was he, remaining that way to this very day, which pleased his grandfather more than anything, proud of his grandson that he didn't fall into the fast lane of high-class society just by gaining so much wealth overnight.

The bloom of our relationship was scrutinized under every socialite's gaze, but my standing as a Cullen kept Emmett out of gossip for too long. After we married, with all the socialites present, Emmett no longer became part of the usual small talk socialites would always busy themselves with. Frankly, to me, I realized making small, nonsensical gossip was much of a nuisance as much as being the topic of the talk was. But I still enjoyed this life, for I was raised in this environment, and being a celebrated socialite, with the title of being the most beautiful with the loveliest voice in my generation, I have to say, I was more than pleased.

Emmett, though, I knew, was frequently bothered with my required attendance at events that he found utterly uninteresting and totally unworthy of his time. This house we lived in belonged to his great-grandmother, and though I knew he didn't exactly think much of riches and would've preferred something much more low-key, he willingly stayed in this mansion to keep me happy. That alone said much about how greatly he considered and wanted to keep my happiness intact.

He only had one condition: that we wouldn't have any butlers, maids or drivers staying in our house, but they would be called when they were needed. I could live with that. Besides, during the first months into our marriage, having people around the mansion wouldn't have made sex all around the place in any way possible.

Finally reaching the chamber I shared with my husband, opening the door a tiny inch apart, I made my way inside, leaving my shoes by the entrance, then slipping between the parted French doors, until I stood by his side.

The moon's rays breaking through our pale blue draperies crossed the childlike features of my husband. Such innocence seen on a grown adult man's face was so refreshing, intriguing and eye-catching. Black mess of curls on the top of his head, long feminine eyelashes guarding and protecting his closed, bright, calming blue eyes, as clear and transparent as crystal, mixed with the deep dimples when he smiled were the attributes that captured my attention instantly one January evening.

The night I turned twenty-four.

His proposal came exactly one year later, on my twenty-fifth birthday, and we were married three months later, the ceremony held outside, in our wonderful garden on a lively April morning in the midst of springtime's new blossoms. It's been two years and seven months now since we've tied the knot, exchanged our vows, exchanged rings and sealed our vow with a kiss.

Our married life was filled with so much bliss, that is, until I met Edward exactly two years later. Seven months it has been since all this started with Edward. When I met him, the nagging feeling in the back of my head ever since Emmett proposed to me resurfaced with so much more intensity, to the point that I got confused as to who I was, what I was doing in life, and where I was going.

For a rich girl like me, who should have had her life pointing in one direction with my family's money and connections leading my path to success, I had no clue what I wanted in life, and suddenly, my whole life made no sense to me.

Since then, Edward became my source of reality, the chains linking me to him also pulling me back to my real life with my husband. Though my affair with him didn't clear up any of the confusion I felt, being with Edward gave me something we both knew was missing in our own marital relationships.

We found a certain kind of solace in each other.

As I stood in silence beside my sleeping husband's figure, a sharp constriction from the strings wrapped around my pulsating heart made my body jump, and the ache formed into tears as my knees collapsed to the ground. Clutching onto the sheets, refraining the pathetic sobs to not disturb my husband's peaceful sleep, I wept, late into the night, crying, wondering, pleading for someone to answer this one recurring question.

_'Why can't I find solace in my own husband…?'_

~o~

**Author's Note: ****This is the very first fanfic that I uploaded that is still an ongoing/in-progress writing project. Please do leave a review… I'd really appreciate it...**

**~Aoi.**


	2. Outrage

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**~Chapter Two~**

**_Outrage_**

I fucking hated waking. Slumber was such a peaceful place to stay in forever. But the heavenly vision of my wife greeting me as soon as I open my eyes always took my breath away, and every single morning, though knowing where she was the other night, fully aware of what she was doing behind my back, I still felt blessed that she always decided to come back for me to awake to her graceful presence.

Her angelic face still deep in sleep roused the memory of when I first met her. She was still as mesmerizing as she was back then, if not even more so. It's like her beauty increased by the minute. Never have I seen any kind of distorted picture with her looking like a mess. Always picture-perfect, always camera-ready, she was by far, in truth and reality, blessed with so much beauty that God must have punished her to live on Earth.

She didn't belong here. She deserved to be in heaven with the other angels lounging around up there in their cloud-filled playground. Even there, I bet she had no competition to her natural allure. She had sinned for being so exquisite. And now she was here. Lying next to me.

She was my fallen angel.

Trying to be gentle as possible to not wake her, I lightly brought up my palm to caress her cheek, blushing pink against her fragile porcelain skin. Tracing the curve of the puffy softness with my thumb, then trailing it along her lower lip, I sighed.

Why couldn't my angel just stay with me?

As a strand of blonde locks fell across the back of my hand, I whisked it back up; not wanting to lose sight of what was the most majestic radiance I was lucky to be bequeathed with.

I could lay here all day, just watch her until I see her fluttering eyelids open, meet the blue-violet hue of her eyes that was such a rare feature to all her glory, then be grateful as she'd bestow on me the loveliest smile I had ever beheld in my entire life. I'd end up showering her with kisses, taking in her presence and just drowning in it, silently thanking God for making her fall into my arms.

This was how so lost I was with her. My life was all about her. All I wanted was her. To have her with me. To make her happy for the rest of her life, until death do us part…

Remembering our vows that she now so clearly broke, something snapped within me and with a sudden rush, I sat up. Terrified that I had awakened the sleeping beauty, I looked to my right. Through relieved to find her still asleep, everything suddenly came back to me. The past months, her behavior, the lies and deceit… and _him_.

Amidst the turmoil of mixed feelings, anger rose up, and with it, I left our chamber. Being in the same room with her was like suffocating from the harsh cruelty of her beauty.

[_Rosalie_]

Forcing my heavy eyes open, I was greeted with the breathtaking view of falling snowflakes, the first day for snow to fall on this November morning. Stretching underneath the thick, soft blanket surrounding me in pure fluff, a smile crossed my face. It felt like today was going to be a good day.

Turning to face my husband, my smile instantly faded upon finding his side already vacant. The past few days, Emmett's been distancing himself from me. That's how I figured he already found out about my adulterous behavior.

Sighing in defeat, I made my way to my bath and a few minutes later, as I sat in front of my vanity mirror and proceeded to smear make-up on my self-inflicted wound last night to conceal the ugly cut on my forearm, Emmett's voice coming from the doorway startled me, my body jumping, my hands clutching so tightly onto the edge of the table.

"You're awake."

Quickly trying to hide the half-concealed mark on my arm, I turned around to face him, a perfect smile plastered on my face.

"Yes, good morning, darling. I thought you'd wait for me last night," I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible, desperate to hide the surprise I felt at the sound of his voice, terrified by the possibility that he could hear my heart pounding erratically against my chest.

"The headache got the best out of me, I guess," my husband then responded.

"That's too bad. We could've had a little fun last night," was all I could think of saying.

A sudden cool temperature chilled our boudoir as I watched in the mirror's reflection how my husband crossed the threshold of our room, striding his way towards where I sat, his eyes never leaving mine. Soon enough, he was behind me, his fingers entangling in the damp waves of my hair, his fingers curling around them, and for a moment, I was unsure, but he might've pulled on my strands a little, for I felt my head tilt back a bit.

Seeing his body bend down, his head leaning forward, I could feel his cheek grazing mine, his face lowering, nuzzling in the crook of my neck, and the sharp inhale he took surprised me. Grateful that I had already taken my bath, erasing the trace of Edward's scent lingering upon my skin, I relaxed.

"Perhaps we can have some fun right now… What do you think, babe?"

My husband's whispered words rang through my ears, his hands lightly grazing against the bare skin on my neck, pushing my bathrobe off my shoulders, sliding it down my arms, until the half of the robe gathered on my waist, hanging loose, dangling off the edge of my seat.

"**_Such beauty_**…"

Alarmed at the tone of his voice, my body stiffened. There was a distinct amount of hatred injected in his speech as he uttered those two little words.

Hesitant but bravely meeting the gaze of my husband in our reflection, I realized that even he didn't know what exactly I was feeling, and a part of me died at the fact that I couldn't open up myself to my own husband, tell him that I felt incomplete, tell him how empty I still felt, that something was lacking in my life, that I couldn't figure out what was missing.

"The most beautiful woman in the world… and she's all mine…"

Another sharp tug on the strings ensnaring my heart caused my body to shudder. The guilt was gradually killing me.

"Aren't you?"

The question forced my face to become stoic. This wasn't the time to show him how I felt.

"Aren't you, sweetheart?" he repeated, his eyes glued to mine through the mirror's reflection.

As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't. He still had that power over me.

"Yes, I am."

The lie was so blatant, and we both knew it.

[Emmett]

Fingers tracing across the feminine lines of her collarbones, hands gently sloping down the curve of her breasts, until finally, palms cupping them gently, a light squeeze forcing them to take shape into my hands, molding them into such a perfect circular shape, her nipples already tautening with the slight caress of my fingers across the tightened buds.

Easing Rosalie into a sexual state was anything but difficult. She was a sex machine. Just the slightest provocation on her skin or any form of naughty verbal usage easily excited her. This was one of the things I loved about her.

The strawberry scent of her lotion after her honey-scented bath always gave her the impeccable scent of delectable delectation. Added to the vanilla perfume on her neck, with the floral fragrance of her hair, Rosalie was astoundingly a consuming mix of everything feminine. It always amazed me how she kept up all these little details intact. But after being raised the way she was, maybe now, it was all just second nature, and not at all a big hassle.

A light gasp touched Rosalie's lips, and I realized her breasts were utterly confined in my palms, my nails already digging into her soft skin. There was something about the expression on her face that triggered something within me. The light bending curve of her brows in confusion, her eyes slightly wider, her lips just an inch apart, and the more I pressed her breasts together, the more those sounds leaving her lips – a combination of pleasant surprise and confused pain – urged me on further.

Our sexual life wasn't at all the tame kind. Hard and rough, was what we both preferred. But never did I inflict pain on my wife, like my hands were doing on their own right now. Continuing the unforgiving claiming of her breasts, entrapping them in their rightful place, I watched Rosalie's mouth gape open in a silent cry of pain, and the sight of it made me drop my hands.

Feeling ashamed of myself for making my wife feel that kind of pain, I knew I should leave, but all I was aware of was the beating of my own heart, racing inexplicably, and the rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, my anger somewhat resurfacing, until my hands dug down on her shoulders, spinning her body around until I found myself kneeling on the floor, forcing her legs apart with my hands, the heels of her feet resting upon my shoulders.

The heady scent of her aromatic flower was intoxicating, a definite signal that she was more than ready to be taken, accompanied by the sweet, tangy flow of her liquid honey spilling all over my finger pressing up against her entrance. Without further ado, plunging in two digits, I filled her. Watching my wife's head tilt back, her hands clutching the edges of the vanity table, her body tensing, her inner walls clasping my fingers, all I could think of was what a lying bitch she was.

It was absurd that during what was supposedly an intimate time between a married couple was nothing more to me but a way to remind myself that she was fucking someone else behind my back.

How did Edward do it last night? Was he using his fingers this way too? Did he fuck her from every position possible? Did he know what her favorite position was? Did he ever eat her out?

These disgusting thoughts encroached into my brain, infecting my mind like a disease as I lowered my mouth onto her nether lips, the petals beautifully parted, the pink flesh of her slit earning itself a quick lick of my tongue, grazing upward until a sharp suck upon the tiny ball caused my wife's body to shudder in delight.

Adding a third finger inside her, I knew Rosalie would find her climax soon. The moans filling the room reminded me of her talent, the exact reason as to why she became a concert diva. As harmonious as wind chimes, as high-pitched as a ringing bell, as smooth flowing as milk and honey, her voice alone had the ability to bring me to my now hardened state.

_'She's fucking someone else.'_

The thought revolted me, and in one swift push against the poisonous Medusa luring me into her haven of lust-filled temptations, I wiped my mouth quickly, my feet running away, far away as possible from the pain only she could bring me.

Feeling too rude to leave without a word, I choked out, "I'm sorry, I just remembered I have a meeting this morning with the all the head chefs at nine. It's eight forty-five, I'll be late. I'll try to make it up to you tonight, or maybe tomorrow, if you're busy tonight."

We both already knew her nights were spent in someone else's arms.

[_Rosalie_]

Too stunned to move, too confused to react, I stayed rooted to my spot.

What just happened? Is this my punishment? To be left aching for release?

Horrified at the realization, I suddenly felt disgraced. Pulling my robe around my body, my hand enclosing my quivering lips, my head bent in embarrassment to fall for his proof that he could still bring me to this state of arousal, still having the control over me and my body, though my nights were spent in another man's arms.

My tears of shame spilled from the corner of my eyes almost instantly.

_'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…'_

The iterating mantra stuck in my mind for hours as I was glued to my spot in front of my vanity mirror, where in the reflection, the pulsing organ inside my chest continued to beat despite the strings around it sinking further through the meat, the strings soaking up the blood red color of my sin.

[Emmett]

Rushing to the garage, grabbing my car keys then driving off with no destination, all I knew was that I needed to get out of there. Clutching the steering wheel so tight, driving through the snow-covered streets, the restricting feeling in my chest, a certain invisible force crushing the uneven beating inside of me, gathered and fought through my will, the pain forming behind my eyes.

With all the strength I had, I forced them down. Forced those fucking pathetic drops of tears back. They were nothing but a disgrace to my pride.

How the fuck can I keep living under the same roof as that cheating slut? How can I just keep my calm during dinners, parties, or whatever nonsense she had to attend when all I can think of now is her body under those disgusting men who she spent a few hours with each and every night?

Slamming my hand against the edge of the wheel, then accidentally slamming it one more time against the horn, the blasted sound erupting forced me out of my thoughts. With my eyes ahead, I drove. And drove. For miles, for hours.

I couldn't go back home. That house back there was no longer a home to me. She no longer was someone I could call my wife.

This was too much. This had to end.

[_Rosalie_]

"Edward, can you come? Please, come over. I have no one else to turn to."

Through the receiver, I could hear Bella's voice in the background fade away into the distance. I assumed Edward was moving away from his wife as he answered.

"What's wrong, my lovely rose?"

With the gentleness in his voice, I instantly felt the need to cry subside, the ache in my heart slowly receding.

"Please come. I just need to see you. Please," I begged through the phone, desperate to find comfort in his arms.

"Rose, love, I can't leave my wife right now. She's about to perform onstage. I'll pass by as soon as I can, all right?"

The tears were returning. "I'll be waiting. Please, hurry."

"Hang in there, love."

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours. A bright snowy morning turned to an overcast afternoon, snow falling steadily from the sky. Nightfall descended upon the city, the city's lights sparkling far away in the distance.

Hiding myself under my blanket all day long, I waited. Waited patiently for my lover to arrive.

_Ding-dong!_

Hurrying to open the main door, the sight of Edward smiling down on me naturally eased and calmed my erratic little heart.

Hands found each other, fingers entwined; bodies clung to one another, stumbling feet tripping due to hazy mind. Clothes shredded in a hurry, discarded on the floor, surroundings getting blurry, eagerly awaiting what's in store. Tumbling onto the bed, the heat of Edward's skin sinking into mine, only one thought was going through my head, his kisses tasted of Italy's sweet, fine wine.

Legs entangling, pulling close, two entities struggling, desperate to get their daily dose. Needing more friction, he lines up to me, with only vowels in my diction, he, without a doubt, hears me agree. Tentatively entering, immediately seeking for more, forcefully penetrating, both of us wanting and willing to be sore.

Words weren't necessary.

All we needed was each other, finding that shared pain that we could never disclose to our own respective partner.

[Emmett]

The image of Rosalie's face crossed my mind. And out of nowhere, I was reminded back on how intriguing that new facial expression seemed to me. Was she pleased by the pain my hands caused her? Was that how Edward was fucking her? Fucking her while inflicting physical pain on her? Was that what made her go back to Edward every single fucking night? Did she like being handled like a mere sex object, used any way the guy wants? Was that how she wanted to be treated?

Trying to control another surge of anger swelling up within me, I was fed up with the ability to feel anything, knowing that only one thing can make me stop thinking of anything. Taking a sharp turn to the right, I was determined to drown myself tonight in the bottomless pit of a bottle containing the strongest alcoholic concoction ever made.

[_Rosalie_]

Empty. The void inside me grew each time I spent my nights with another man. And though I gained nothing from it, it was something I couldn't stop.

Feeling my lover's chest heave, I watched on as Edward's sleeping figure beside me stirred, slowly awakening to the unfamiliar surroundings that greeted him. This was the first time Edward has ever stepped into this mansion. He may have been bringing me home after our nights spent together, but he never went as far as entering.

I've never had a great relationship with my younger sister, Isabella. She's only been here once, and fortunately for me, I wasn't around when she was, while I've been in Edward's manor, her home after she got married to him eleven months ago, a dozen times, but that was no surprise because nearly all gala events were held at the Masen Estate, often hosted by Edward's great-grandfather who passed away two years ago. After Edward got married to my younger sister last year, to keep the memory of the former head of the Masen family alive, he kept on the tradition of holding the galas his great-grandfather loved hosting for his fellow socialites.

The Masens were the wealthiest folks in the city. They were one of the families who were known for "old money" since their riches was built long ago. Edward's late great-grandfather owned plenty of the lands that were bought out by rich men back in the day.

Edward himself wasn't one to grace social gatherings with his presence, so it was no surprise that not many, including myself, met him personally before he married Isabella. Every socialite though, of course, has heard of him, for his name, and sometimes his image, would be printed in the papers.

My relationship with Bella was so unpleasant, to the point that I deliberately offered to sing for two whole weeks in Hawaii for all the weddings held there, for half the price I was usually booked for, making sure that those two weeks clashed with their weekend wedding celebration.

I was that desperate to avoid being present in one of those days where I'd have to put a fake smile upon my face and congratulate that sister of mine with half-meant remarks and wishes for her happiness with her new husband.

The first time I met Edward was four months after their December wedding, in April, a few days after my second wedding anniversary with my husband. It took less than a week for Edward and me to find ourselves wrapped around each other.

"Your room speaks so much about you."

Edward's comment took me by surprise.

"You think so?" I asked, nonchalant.

He nodded in response.

"Very elegant. Just like you," he explained as he lifted his hand and brushed away a stray strand falling across my cheek.

Silence fell upon us and for a still minute, his green eyes bore into my blue ones.

"You should get going. Your wife will wonder where you are," I then broke the peace.

At that, a light chuckle erupted from his chest.

"You really never refer to her as 'sister,' do you?" he asked, as the look on my face clearly inquired for an explanation as to what made him laugh.

"I don't. And I doubt I ever will. She's brought so much shame to our family," I told him matter-of-factly.

It wasn't in Edward's nature to intervene in my broken relationship with Bella, and so, he said nothing. I watched as he picked up his clothes, watched him get dressed then led him to the main door, his lips planting a kiss on my neck, almost making me want him inside me again.

This was how our affair worked.

When one needed the other, we always made ourselves available, knowing that in each other, we could lose our selves, lose our minds, lose our worries, our thoughts, for the few hours we spent together, making every day a little more bearable and livable.

[Emmett]

Fumbling through my pockets to find the goddamn key to the door, then stumbling my way inside, fingers toying with certain switches for the damn light, my mind drowsy as hell, I forced my body to stay still in one spot, my hand hitting the wall to stop the world from keeping on spinning.

Deciding that the lights were a terrible idea to the sensitivity of my eyes, I found my hands tapping on the wall, trying to find those damn switches once again, but the iridescent shine of gold rays crossing my vision stopped me dead in my tracks.

There, beside the vase of red, blue and lavender roses were three rings that I could recognize anywhere, anytime.

The first was Rosalie's gold wedding ring, a perfect match to the one I was wearing on my left ring finger. Second was her engagement ring, the garnet stone shining with the help of the golden light from the chandelier splaying across it. Third was the matching wedding band that was around Isabella Marie Masen's left ring finger.

Sobriety replaced drunkenness, and out of every emotion drowned in alcohol, fury spat out of me.

Snatching the rings from the table, then stomping off to our room, confusion settled in as I found our bed empty. Seconds passed until my feet propelled me to my wife's room. Thundering knocking came from my fists, and without waiting for permission to enter, my body barged into the room, and I found my wife, waking up, her hands pulling the blanket to cover her nakedness underneath.

Her mouth opened in protest, but before words could leave her lips, I heard my own voice boom loudly, "Don't you at least have the **_fucking_** decency to cover up that your lover was here?!"

With that, I tossed the rings aside, hearing them bounce off the walls, and as Rosalie watched the rings scatter on the ground, horror-struck expression crossing her facial features, I wanted nothing more but to bash her head against the floor.

[_Rosalie_]

Screaming. I was screaming so loud inside my head. How could Edward and I just forget all about our rings? It was part of the process – to take off the rings that reminded us of the commitment we made to a person who we were cheating on and to put it back on when we were done.

My eyes wandered back to my husband, whose deathly gaze marked every inch of me, freezing me to my bed, disabling my body to move an inch from where I sat. Before I could take a second look at the rings that long stopped bouncing off the floor, I felt my body being crushed, pinned down with the strength of his on mine.

"You fucking whore, you're a **_fucking whore_**."

His words penetrated my whole body, the name that he called me etched onto my skin, marking me as nothing but a slut. His hands wound into my hair, and with a sharp tug, my head fell back, and I forced my mouth shut, cutting off the gasp that found its way past my throat.

"I know what you've been doing behind my back, but disgracing my great-grandmother's home is taking it too far, **_Rosalie_**."

The use of my whole name took me by surprise. He never called me that unless he was absolutely raging with anger.

"How did he do it? How the fuck did he fuck you, Rosalie? Tell me, goddamn it! How did Edward fuck you last night?!"

At the mention of my lover's name, I thrashed against my husband, the sturdy form of his body not at all affected with the pathetic little stabs of my fists against his chest. The sheet between our bodies was yanked with one swift pull, and the roughness of his clothes scraped against my bare skin.

Before anything else, his hand slipped between the V of my thighs, and his fingers broke through my entrance with such vehemence that my legs desperately thrashed around his hips, my feet trying their best to kick him out of my way, my hands clinging onto his shoulders, my nails scratching, frantic to get him to feel enough pain to the point that he'd get off of me.

My husband's lips lowered to my chest, and the painful claim of his teeth, unmistakably leaving marks around the tautened peak of my breast evoked a jarring scream leaving my mouth, the surprise and horror to this violent husband of mine wildly running through my thoughts, until his teeth clamped down on my nipple, tugging on it roughly, the excruciating pull forcing my hands on his head, pushing him away from me with all the strength I could muster, only to find the bed under me shake as the entirety of my body slammed down against it, my wrists caught in the tightness of his grips.

The anger in his eyes ablaze with such intensity that was petrifying, I stilled, hoping that if I did, he'd stop this at once.

Yet he didn't.

Dragged from the bed, my body slammed into the wall, his own pressed up so hard against my back, it didn't end.

His fingers painfully pinching down on my nipples, the hardened peaks screaming for mercy, begging, pleading, crying to be freed from the viciousness I was kept under. A hard smack then crossed my bare bottom, and it wasn't like any of our playful spanking in bed. It felt too ferocious, like all his anger could only be lashed out in this manner.

His hands grabbed me, tugged on my hair, pulled on my skin, fingers pinching, squeezing, teeth biting, nails scratching, marking, the pain wasn't even close to its finale.

And that night was only the beginning of what turned out to be his form of punishment for me.

"Emmett, stop it!"

Pushing, forcing itself inside me, I felt myself split in two, the hard virility of his pride as a man penetrating me, parting my inner walls with his incredible thickness, filling me until I was completely invaded, his very tip hitting my very top.

With my hands pinned above my head, my forehead resting helplessly against the wall while my husband took me against my will from behind me, I cried silently, my heart aching at the thought that this relationship was now permanently damaged.

_'Was this how our relationship would be from now on?'_

Thrown across the room, my back hitting the hard solidity of my desk, I found my hands clinging onto my husband, my consciousness battling the fact that I wanted nothing to do with him with the aching need for release that my body begged for, so as pathetic as it felt, I wanted him to bring me to my state of nirvana.

The sudden empty feeling replaced the sense of loss as he swiftly pulled out, disappointing me for a minute, only to be replaced by painful pleasure as his hand repeatedly slapped against my clit, his fingers so rough as they played with the sensitivity of the bundle of nerves, until he forced his way inside me once more in one unforgiving shove, gradually increasing his tempo, slamming inside me with such hatred that stung my skin, like a poisonous fog that ate away at my flesh.

Finding myself on the floor with a loud thud of my body against it, my husband's hands and actions turned brash, harsher and hurried, even his heartbeat sped up, his uncontrolled anger fuelling his movements, the powerful sinister curses under his breath louder, and only a few seconds later, his body stilled and I received his hate through the liquid he transferred into me.

Not even taking one look at me, he left in silence, leaving in his trail the echo of the door slamming behind him, which made me cringe in fright.

Ashamed.

That's what I felt after he left me on the floor, my heart aching and bleeding even more from this punishment of having even my husband treat me with such brutality that made me feel nothing but empty. But I couldn't blame him. It all started with me. If it weren't for my infidelity, I wouldn't be in this humiliating position right now. Still, the shame I felt made me go deeper and further into my grave, where I lay dying, buried alive with all the sin I've committed.

~o~

**Author's Note: ****This is the very first fanfic that I uploaded that is still an ongoing/in-progress writing project. Please do leave a review... I'd really appreciate it… Next update: September 18.**

**~Aoi.**


	3. A is for

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note:** Chapters Three, Four and Five will be about Rosalie's punishment. There will be _eight _chapters all-in-all. Also, stories like this and "_The Only Way_" are liked and understood by very few people. Not everyone will understand my works and what the stories are really about. I'm intrigued in finding people who are like me in some way, or who at least, are open-minded enough to be able to grasp the way my mind works. Those people are a _rare _find. And I usually start finding them through one's review…

Remember, by uploading stories, _**we writers put our work and our selves up for judgment**_. Please keep that in mind every time you leave a review on _any_ story. Well, without further ado, I give you Chapter Three.

**~Chapter Three~**

**_A is for…_**

Opening my eyes to pitch-black darkness, I found myself running up square stairs, and as I stopped to look beyond the railing to see where the top would end, I only saw more flights of steps. Though I didn't know where the fuck it would lead, and seemingly, it didn't have an end, I kept running. Running. Feeling like I wasn't getting anywhere. Feeling like my feet weren't moving forward at all. But I was starting to sweat. Continuing on, I ran. Until an invisible force knocked me off my feet, smacking me down to the ground, my back cracking as it met the hard, uneven surface of the steps.

Tumbling over and over, never stopping, panic and fear surged up within me, feeling trapped in this helpless situation. A sense of warm liquid seeping out from my forehead started to block my eyesight. I tried to grasp onto one of the flights of stairs, desperate to stop toppling over, frustrated to find balance that I couldn't fucking maintain.

Finally crashing on a flat surface with a loud thud, I was certain I had broken all my bones and in one single second, I fell back into unconsciousness.

Opening my eyes once more, this time, I was climbing a fence. Where on the other side, my wife was huddled; her knees up close to her chin, her arms around her legs, her hands in her hair, her head bent low, and her tears… I could hear her tears; even feel the weight of them. But tears weren't supposed to be heavy, were they? Tears were mere liquid after all…

As she looked up, I understood why I could feel them. They weren't tears. She was crying… blood. The frightening sight of my wife crying tears of blood didn't deter my resolve to get to her. My feet climbed the fence, and every time I stepped onto the ground of the other side, I was back in front of the fence, climbing my way up to get to my wife. Why couldn't I get to her? Why, God damn it?!

More than a dozen times I had reached the ground of the other side, just to have myself ending up in front of the fence once again. As I reached the top of the fence for what seemed like the hundredth time, a strong gust of air knocked me off, the sensation of falling overwhelming me with fear of dying.

But I never reached the ground. In mid-fall, I awoke, opening my eyes, finding my naked wife on top of me, her tears of blood falling against my cheeks, and the thick white bodily fluid she kept in her mouth started to flow out as her tongue pushed itself past her lips. Her fingers grazed over my mouth, and with my chin then being cupped by her thumb and forefinger, she lightly pulled it open with the apparent intent to transfer that… that horrifying, disgusting male fluid that I knew from my nagging intuition didn't belong to me.

The thought of having that inside my mouth sickened me and though mentally I was thrashing around to get this insane version of my wife off of me, my body was as still as a statue. Just as soon as the warm liquid touched the corner of my mouth, for the last time, I woke up.

Panting and sweating from the vivid pictures that enclosed me in terror, I frantically looked around to ascertain nothing of it was real. Relieved to find the side of the bed vacant, I knew it was all just a nightmare. Yet there was a certain inexplicable sense of truth that spoke to me. Just as there was a gulf in between the room I was in and the room that my wife now occupied since the night I found Edward's wedding band, the second part of my dream resembled that distance between us now.

I stood up, the dream fading from my mind as I was pulled back to the world of consciousness. In front of my wife's door, I paused. As the confusion of my nightmare settled down, anger flooded through me. And yet, I couldn't figure out what the fuck I was so furious about. After all, it was just a dream…

~o~

[_Rosalie_]

White. Everything was too white. As I opened my eyes, I was met with a chilly breeze, numbing my whole body, only to find my body already too frozen to move even an inch. Realization hit me as I awoke to reality. I wasn't greeted with the comfort of my bed; instead, I was welcomed with the cruel coldness of the outside world, the snow falling from the sky in a steady pace.

The actuality of being outside in my naked state dawned upon my foggy mind and only added to the confusion my sleeping brain could take. Trying to take in this scene I was in, I tried moving my head from left to right, inspecting where exactly I was. Noticing my arms spread to my sides, ropes around my wrists, feeling myself bound to a sleek wood surface, with my hazy brain, I was unsure but it felt like I was tied to a wooden post. To be more accurate, this felt like the exact image of Christ on the cross.

What? How did I get here?

Facing front, the mansion in my sight was the one I shared with my husband, but where was he? Was he the one who did this? How was he able to drag me out here without me waking up, if he did so while I was asleep?

"Finally awake, aren't you?"

His voice came from behind me, but I couldn't turn my head around, belatedly realizing that my neck too, was tied to the post with a rope around it. Even my feet seemed to be entrapped by a rope, tied around the post, but my feet weren't covered under the snow. There was a little platform underneath my feet, and for it, I was grateful, dreading how sick I'd get from having my bare feet dug under the freezing snow, though being out here in this weather alone in my state of undress was bad enough.

What _was_ I doing out here?

Hearing my husband's approaching footsteps, I waited, anticipated, until finally, he came into view. Fully clothed in heat-giving material, a sense of injustice crept up my skin, a spark of anger igniting within me.

Before I could speak up, his hand clamped over my mouth. The warmth of his breath tickled the skin on my neck, his voice filled with so much hatred, the sound of his words so biting; it almost felt like it had teeth that sunk its sharpness into my skin.

"You'll pay for everything, **_Rosalie_**."

The light shimmering reflection of a razor blade swept across my vision and in one quick millisecond, panic set in, the thought of my husband inflicting pain on me never ever occurring to me in any way possible.

"I think it's just appropriate to mark you for what you are, don't you think so too, my adulterous wife?"

Three lines. Three lines atop my left breast, etched into my skin, right above my heart, stinging against my tender flesh. The letter A. I welcomed the sharp, piercing, slicing sensation. For I knew what it stood for.

_Adulteress._

This was proof of what I was. Proof of my sin.

I could feel the blood trickling down my chest, the red liquid scorching, burning me. As my vision blurred with the help of my tears, I watched on with a mind as blank as a white sheet of paper as my husband pulled out a white rose bud from his jacket pocket, lifted it to my bleeding insignia, the fresh, innocent petals absorbing the liquid, turning it into a passionate red rose filled with sin.

"Be proud, my darling wife. Only you have the ability to make this flower turn into this spectacular red rose with your sinful blood."

Tucking the stained rose behind my ear, my husband made me feel like a mere decorated statue for display. Why was he doing this?

With a cold breeze moving past me, the wind whistling in tune to my agony, silence snuck its way between my husband and me, and we stayed still like we were dead, stuck in this eerie tranquility.

The sound of wheels of a vehicle made my eyes widen. '_I can't be seen like this!' _The shiny black sedan stopped right in front of our main door, and out stepped an unfamiliar face, a total stranger, a fair-skinned woman with crimson red hair and bright green eyes, clad in a leather coat, made her way towards us. Emmett turned and greeted her with a kiss on her cheek, then led her over to where I was imprisoned, held against my will.

"Who is she?" the woman asked, pertaining to me, a strong, rough accent in that low, sultry voice of hers.

"My wife," my husband replied coldly and curtly.

The woman studied me for a minute then queried, "Why is she out here, bleeding?"

"Because she's my adulterous wife who needs to be punished," Emmett explained, his words spitting with venomous hate.

"I came all the way from Russia for this?" the red-headed lady asked, seemingly a little disappointed and insulted.

"Well, you've been wondering for a long time what it's like to be with me, haven't you, Victoria?" Emmett asked in return to her question. "So it's not like it's a total waste that you're here. Besides, I know how much you love to exact punishment on people who deserve it so you're perfect for this task of mine."

"How amusing that you remember that, Emmett."

Her voice had dropped even lower to a barely audible whisper as she turned to face my husband, her arms resting on his shoulders, her hands gliding along my husband's nape, her fingers entwining in the strands of his hair at the base of his nape, her face so close to his, their lips barely inches apart.

With unbelieving eyes, I watched how my husband's lips were kissed by her cherry red ones as her body was pulled in closer to his by his arms that encircled her waist, his hands resting on her backside, the leather of her coat restricting much of his grab.

Lips parted, tongues met, clothes were discarded, and to my horror, my husband continued this sexual act until both of them were naked, my husband sitting at the edge of the platform while this Russian woman, this Victoria, was kneeling on her coat to shield her knees from the snow, between my husband's legs.

From my view way up, I could see how hard my husband was for this woman. His cock was completely erect and she grabbed him with such intensity that my husband's head was thrown back, a groan leaving his lips, and the appalling sight made me feel affronted to be witnessing this disgusting act of infidelity just to spite me.

The nauseating feeling in my stomach reached my throat, and I annoyingly pushed it back down. There was no way I'd let him know that this was upsetting me. Slurping sounds reached my ears, and it was too difficult a task to keep my eyes away from where it came from.

Painted red lips enclosed over my husband's member, her mouth swallowing him whole. Salivating all over his full length, coating it with the clear liquid, her spit landing against his tip, her palm grazing along it, spreading it – I was so close to shouting. Was it really necessary for me to be seeing this?

With a loud pop, the Russian woman's mouth left the impressive hardness so erect, so proud, her body then leaning forward until the stiff rod was squeezed between her breasts, her hands carefully cupping them, positioning those two perky assets of hers to confine my husband's manhood. Was this real? Was this truly happening? Or were my eyes betraying me?

How could it not be real when I can see them so clearly, hear them so distinctly, especially my husband's proof of pleasure, the depth of his voice so enthralling, ringing in my ears as his hips started grinding upwards as he started thrusting himself between those enviable breasts?

In that single second, I wanted to slice them off her body, cut them off her gorgeous curves, then dismember every limb so she would never be able to use the seducing image of her body to lure men like my husband in. A sense of disorientation kicked in, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. What was I thinking about?

A harsh thud forced my eyes back to the body that was slammed onto the platform; the perfection I was seeing made up of shapely curves, mounted hills and seductive depths on a natural, flawless canvas. Red waves of shiny locks splayed across the wooden surface, green eyes searching for the transparent blue ones of my husband, as red painted nails reached forward for flesh to cling onto.

Letting my eyes wander downward, where legs were spread, shock registered in my mind as my husband penetrated so swiftly, so hard, I could almost feel it, like it were happening to me. The breaking through of my entrance, feeling invaded, occupied, before the assault of his powerful thrusts began.

Repulsed by the dampness forming between my thighs, I tried to shut my eyes close, look away, concentrate on something else, focus my gaze at the distance, but nothing worked.

Just as my tears betrayed me, drowned me and filled me up inside, my eyes were glued to the two bodies meshing as one. The cry of my husband's name coming from the woman's lips awoke a stirring, vicious resentment within me.

No one.

No one should moan my husband's name that way. Only I should be doing that. Only I could call out his name that way.

Though sickened at the horrendous sight of seeing my husband bury himself deep in another woman, I couldn't bear to take my eyes off of the entrancing sexual interaction that made me feel such furious anger inside yet at the same time, leaving the core of my womanhood craving for the same sexual attention, envious with dripping lust.

I watched on with a lustful, longing gaze. Watched how my husband's cock delved deeper in her sanctity, disappearing into her over and over. Both amused and jealous with rage as he turned her over, ramming into her with such force while she was on her hands and knees. With each thrust, her body propelled forward, only to be pulled back against his hips by his hands grasping her slim waist. She must have been stretched enormously. Emmett was well-endowed, more than the average male, and he never failed to amaze me with his remarkable girth.

In one swift movement, my husband pulled her off the platform and was now standing, his hands grabbing tightly onto her thighs, holding her up perfectly with the strength of his arms. This Victoria swung one arm behind Emmett's nape for support, her hand clinging onto his shoulder while her other hand went to work on the hardened peak of her breast.

The dreadful yet alluring sight of that magnificent male specimen sliding in and out of the redhead's seemingly tight entrance was right before my eyes. Her succulent wetness coated my husband's hard shaft, the white liquid gliding down to his sacs, and for a moment, I had the desire to be under them, licking my way up to taste her tangy sweetness.

Her head turned slightly to the side, leaning close to Emmett's and I stared as her tongue darted out to meet his, the exchange of the saliva from intertwining tongues left me too stunned to think.

This Russian red-haired, green-eyed woman was attractive in her own ways. The pink blush on her naturally fair complexion and flawless face somewhat piqued jealous hatred inside me. Her long curled lashes and high cheekbones with the perfect arch to her eyebrows sent bitterness reeling in my brain. She was beautiful, yes, and she had a voluptuous body. This was the first time I felt someone come close to me in competition when it came to beauty.

As their lips parted, the bright emerald eyes of the redhead, with a dark mist of lust and pleasure in those heavy-lidded eyes of hers, searched for the crystal clear blue ones of my husband. My gaze drifted from her to my husband's expression, and what I saw shocked me, infuriated me and tore me into a million shreds.

_'Stop! Don't! Don't look at her like that!'_

With his eyes completely locked on hers, I felt a stirring ache in my chest, a painful racing of my wounded heart, my air suddenly being stolen, like the light in my life was being overshadowed by the painful possibility that my husband had feelings for this woman, for that look, that gaze he so intently laid upon her, spoke of a clear statement that she was now the only thing he could see, only thing he wanted to see.

_'Don't look at her like that!'_

Only I should receive that look. That look where he was so lost, drowning in the woman's eyes as his senses would overtake him as he'd greedily take what was his, the urge and need for release no longer a matter of what the woman needed but what he wanted. That possessive man who took orgasms any time he wanted, but never failing to bring me to my high next, that man was supposedly mine. And mine alone.

Shredding, tearing, ripping, all these sensations forced themselves on my beating life force, killing me slowly with excruciating torture as I watched on how my husband drowned himself in the sexual temptation, his controlled, paced thrusts no longer following a certain rhythm, his pounding, slamming, ramming into the woman so vicious, so erratic, so uncontrolled, so… uninhibited.

Through blurry eyes, my stare fixated on the two figures connecting as one, I hated him, despised her, and loathed myself. I no longer knew what this was all about. Until my husband's eyes suddenly bore into mine, glaring at me, sending piercing daggers through my heart, the hatred ablaze in his eyes, masking the real pain I was certain he felt underneath all the façade.

Breaking. I was breaking with every second that passed. All of a sudden, I felt the whole world crash onto my shoulders, crushing my body, my soul, my spirit into a mere nothingness, making my presence in this world insignificant. I didn't matter. I was nothing in this world. And I was nothing to him.

"Come for me, babe," he then whispered into the red-head's ear, and if it were anyone else, it might not have mattered, but that same line, that same way he whispered it, was only for me.

That encouragement to come for him was mine. Feeling my jaw quivering as tears formed in my eyes, I felt deeply hurt to hear my husband using the same endearment, the same words, the same encouragement and same way of saying it, and using the same position on another woman to bring her to her state of ecstasy.

Not being able to take any more of the maddening, debauched show that was openly broadcast in public with no shame, just to infuriate me, I desperately and futilely thrashed against my restraints, the rope around my neck and my wrists tightening, the mark already clearly imprinted upon my skin.

I wanted to scream, cry, run far away; wanting nothing more but to forget that now Emmett would resort to this just to get even.

"Emmett! Don't stop, don't fucking stop!"

The string of profanities being screamed by the Russian woman made me aware that she was nearing her high. As much as I wanted to look away, the strong need to see the end to their insulting "_punishment_," as my husband called it, trumped over my nausea to see someone else receive his climax.

She was slammed back down on the platform, my husband once again claiming her like an animal, his thrusts hurried, quick, deep. His hands palmed her breasts, kneading them, tugging on her nipples with his fingers, all the while his body gradually leaned forward, pushing the woman's body along until her figure lay flat against the platform, my husband's body fully pressed up against hers, his arms on each side of her head, his fingers meshed in her hair.

The Russian beauty's expletives were now louder, and the obscene language came to a halt as Emmett thrust into her one last time, making her body shake with violent tremors, her pleasure finally milking his member, squeezing every last saneness my husband withheld.

I watched as he pulled himself out and this Victoria eagerly turned around and offered her open mouth to my husband's cock that he was now working on quickly, the spurt of his cum shooting into the redhead's mouth. With a moan of pleasant delight after a deep swallow, Victoria licked her lips and took my husband's cock into her mouth one last time.

~o~

As I was released from the post, my body collapsed onto the platform, and with what little strength I had left, I pushed my body forward, crawling off the platform onto the ice-cold snow. Too numb and too weak to move any further, I let myself sink into my bed of freezing winter, an appropriate place for an ice queen such as me, fully aware of the cheating mistakes I've done with the knowledge of being an adulteress to my husband.

Lying in my tomb of white snow, I slowly noticed the blood seeping from the wound on my chest trickling down my skin, sinking into the whiteness, recreating my tomb of white snow into a sea of crimson blood, where my cold-hearted soul froze, trapped inside this unfaithful body of mine.

Frozen in time, I laid there, waiting for death to pull me out of my misery. But life wouldn't let me escape my sin this quick. For life was never forgiving. Especially for someone who's committed such an atrocious sin.

~o~

**Author's Note: I'd like to hear/read comments on the story so far… Please leave your thoughts in a review or PM, whichever you prefer more. I love hearing what my readers have to say. The next update will be on… Well, it depends on the feedback I get.**

**~Aoi.**


	4. Crushed Rose

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note: **Okay, so maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the ones who can finish reading this story are people who have **not** experienced infidelity, for to those who have; this is too much of a difficult read? I wonder…

Anyway, did I drive away some of my readers by the last chapter? Well, I'll probably lose more because of this following one, but I'll understand completely for **this chapter contains a ****rape scene**. **_Please_** **_stop reading this story especially because of this chapter if this particular topic makes you uncomfortable_**. I don't mean to trigger any unpleasant memories to the reader.

To those who want to continue reading the story, but can't read the rape scene for their own personal reasons, **I'll be marking the start ****_and_**** end of the scene, so you can easily skip it**. Please heed my words.

**~Chapter Four~**

**_Crushed Rose_**

Hours. It took me hours before I had the ability to stand, to drag my numb, freezing body to the front door, and even then, as I arrived in what was supposedly my haven, I didn't find freedom, nor did I find peace.

Three pairs of hands tugged on my body, pulled on my hair, scratched my skin, and spanked every part they were able to grope. Tossed around in circles, finding myself pressed up against three different bodies, the dizzying feeling made me lurch forward, throwing my arms around my waist as my throat unexpectedly constricted, the revolting liquefied vomit inside my mouth forcing its way out the tunnel of my throat.

Laughter. Three males laughing at me and amidst the sick amusement of seeing a grown woman throw up, my husband's voice stated quite imperiously, "Don't be so rough, guys. But have fun with my adulterous wife."

Eyes widening, I looked up to find my husband, and the terrifying sight of a small smirk present at the corner of his mouth made my whole world stop spinning, my focus narrowing at this unfamiliar version of the man I married.

Choking, I could only utter one word, "Why…?"

Before my husband answered, he bent over to pick something up. It was the rose bud that I hadn't noticed had fallen from my hair.

"You enjoy **_fucking_** others, don't you, my love? Well, how does it feel to have your husband pick out three random strangers for tonight?"

With that, he left, and I was hauled up to the attic, a spacious room right under the roof. We kept nothing up here and this space was mostly used as a spot to watch the sun rise up in the horizon during dawn. Emmett loved the sunrise… He used to stay up here almost every morning just to watch it through the single small window in the midst of this empty space.

* * *

_Start of Rape Scene_

* * *

"Get in here, you slut," one of the three men ordered, pushing me up the stairs until I fell on all fours at the top of the staircase.

"Move it."

Crawling, I urged myself forward to the middle of the attic onto the thick carpet that was the only thing decorating this empty space. But then as panic rose up in me, I crawled further into one corner. Before I could reach it though, I was pulled back by my ankle, my body mercilessly dragged until I found myself pinned by one of the men sitting on the back of my legs, keeping me still and unable to move with his hands restraining my arms against the floor.

"Please, don't do this…"

Clasping my nape from behind, the man holding me down spat out angrily, "You shut up, you little whore."

Another man was kneeling in front of me, his fingers cupping my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.

"What a pretty little blonde you are."

Not thinking of the consequences, I spat at him.

_Slap!_

Stinging. It stung. Like a bee's sting, only more potent. The flesh felt hot, and it just wouldn't stop stinging, the buzzing sound of the pain reverberating in my ears.

"Not that well-mannered, are you, you little cunt?"

At that, the zipper of his jeans came undone, and the hardened erection before me was downright intimidating. I couldn't believe this would be really happening. I didn't want this. I never wanted this to happen.

"Come on, either we do this the hard way, or the easy way."

Shaking my head wildly at the suggestion of me taking that into my mouth voluntarily, I thrashed my body against my human restraints, the man sitting on my legs now moving up my body until his weight crashed against my spine, his feet now trapping my arms.

"Get off me, please! You're hurting me!"

It hurt. I could feel my bones cracking under his weight, feel my arms crushed with agonizing ache at the painful pressure of his feet.

My hair was pulled back by the man behind me, forcing my chin up, my mouth to gape open, a forced invitation for the guy's cock in front of me to fill it. Without thinking, I bit down, and the man pulled out quickly, his angry snarl at me spiteful, and my cheek was met with a forceful hit of his fist, the sensation of it like several stones being thrown repeatedly at the same spot on my face.

Head falling to the side, sinking with extreme fatigue until my forehead hit the comfort of the carpet, I was aghast; my tears falling as a screeching cry echoed in the spacious room. With utter disbelief, my chest heaving in irregular beats, I looked up pleadingly at the man before me. I could taste blood in my mouth. How could he just hit a woman with his fist…?

The throbbing ache inside my mouth was beyond excruciating and I noted blood dribbling down to my chin but that didn't stop any of them. My mouth was filled with the vile male organ before me, forcing me to swallow along some of the blood that was still forming inside my mouth; one of my hands was busily stroking another guy's cock, while fingers forcefully penetrated through my entrance, eager to get started.

Too impatient, one of them already forced his way inside me, the scratching, unpleasant friction burning my inner walls, my mouth too full to plead him to pull out.

Pulled out, pushed back in, I was itching inside, my legs thrashing around, my feet slamming against the floor of the attic, trying to get him off of me. With a frustrated grunt, he finally left my core then said with disgust, "Bitch's dry. Ain't getting wet at all."

"Guess we gotta make her," one of them responded and my body was flipped over with such nonexistent carefulness that I heard several of my bones crack.

The other two men held both my hands and my feet against the ground while the third one worked on my clit, slapping his hand against it repeatedly, sliding his finger between my slit, still working so hard to get me to respond to their sexual touches.

His finger dipped inside, and as an added finger pushed forward, the quick back and forth strokes successfully sent a wave of pleasure between my legs. Clenching my lower lip with my teeth, the denial of feeling wet was strongly fighting against the intense feeling of sexual pleasure.

Soon enough, inevitably, the natural reaction of a body to any kind of sexual provocation made its mark on mine. The dampness was easily forming between my thighs, and I hated myself for being so effortlessly eased into readiness.

All of sudden, I felt hands rubbing the lower part of my abdomen, sometimes lightly patting it, putting pressure as he'd stroke it. I suddenly realized what he was trying to accomplish.

"No! Please, don't! Don't make me!"

With the man's skillful fingers and careful hands, I could feel it coming.

"Please, don't! Don't!"

"Let it out. Come on, you won't be able to hold it in forever."

The cold from outside had an effect on my bladder, and knowing I had just arrived from the outside world, this man was now working on it, pushing it, coaxing it to relieve itself.

Holding my hands over my eyes, I cried tears of shame while avoiding their stares as I embarrassed myself, the bright yellow liquid I released all over the carpet leaving me with no ounce of self-respect.

"What a filthy cunt."

Laughter once more.

To add to my mortification, the man who brought me to this state of humiliation eagerly licked away on the remaining drops on my inner thighs, then sucked on the source of the yellow fluid.

"You have a really weird liking for that, dude," I heard one of the men say to the one who was still cleaning me from my urinating mess.

Then I was filled with no difficulty, the wetness from my urine helping the sliding sensation of the man's cock inside me.

_'Please, stop. Please, God, make this stop. Let me wake up from this nightmare.'_

I never did. This was real. What's worse, this was my reality.

With a man beneath me, his cock inside me, his hips pushing upwards, I felt my body bounce up and down, my mouth filled by a man's cock who was standing on one side, the other man to my right was moving his hips to my hand's back and forth strokes.

Pushed down, my breasts met the chest of the man beneath me, my hands on the floor on either side of his head, his lips capturing my nipple in his mouth, his teeth biting and tugging on it. His arms wound around me, keeping my body down close to his, as the man whose cock was in my hand just now moved behind me, his finger alarmingly pressing against…

"Don't! Not there, please!"

"Shut up."

My mouth was forced shut over the third guy's cock, his hand harshly tugging on my hair, keeping my lips enclosed over his member, guiding it on his cock in a steady rhythm.

_'No! Please, no!'_

The finger, coated with the man's spit, slipped into the hole that hasn't been used in a long, long time. I wasn't a virgin in there, Emmett and I experimented in the first year of our marriage, but it's been months now since it's been… penetrated with. It'd feel like it's my first time all over again. I didn't want to experience that stretching pain, forcefully widening a hole that wasn't meant to be gaping.

_'Please don't, please…'_

Another digit was added, and before long, I felt the man's cock sliding back and forth between the cheeks of my ass, before he finally tapped the tip of his cock against the tiny opening. The man beneath me stilled, while the man before me grabbed my head with more force, keeping it in a rhythmic, bobbing movement that slowly increased its tempo. He was desperate for release, I could feel it.

"Take it, bitch. Take it all in your mouth."

He forced his cock all the way to the back of my throat, and I could feel the constricting feeling, making me gag at the extreme fullness. With my mouth packed, I was forcibly penetrated in my ass. With a loud scream I couldn't contain, I pulled away from the cock before me, just to have it shoved back into my mouth repeatedly, with no pause, no air to take in, all my holes filled with disgusting male organs…

As much as I wanted to hate it, I was starting to find pleasure. I wanted to come. I could feel myself getting excited for it.

I found myself willingly sucking, eagerly taking cocks into my mouth, unashamedly bouncing on a cock, enjoying being filled with one in my ass, hearing my own sounds of pleasure echo throughout the empty attic.

But as soon as I was aware of them emptying their filth inside my mouth, remembering that this isn't what I wanted, reminding myself that this was Emmett's punishment, I wanted to once again scream and thrash against them, but their bodies had already left mine. Realizing that with one swallow, I'd have their disgusting taste within me, I immediately spat it out, the warm white liquid dripping from my chin down onto the carpet. Instantaneously, a harsh slap crossed my cheek.

"Fucking bitch, you wasted it."

"What an ungrateful slut."

* * *

_End of Rape Scene_

* * *

Hearing them leave, I could no longer keep the torrents of my tears in, my face fully smeared with sweat, blood, tears, saliva, and cum.

Dirtied, sullied, desecrated. I felt filthy. My body was tainted, tarnished, defiled.

Not just did Emmett hurt me emotionally, but now physically too. Indirectly through them.

I couldn't determine how long I stayed lying there. I heard footsteps approaching, and I prayed so hard that it wouldn't be one of the men who decided that he still didn't have enough. At the sight of my husband appearing at the top of the staircase, I straightened my upper body to greet him with the respect he deserved.

Feeling too ashamed to show myself in front of him this way, I covered myself up with what clothing I found, in this case, the dirtied, heavy rug that was now stained with sweat, blood, tears, urine, saliva, and cum. Desperate to find some dignity, I silently cried behind my heavy cover, praying to God that my husband wasn't studying this appalling sight of his wife.

_'Please don't look at me. Please, don't!'_

Not able to handle the shame, I cowered against the corner, wanting nothing more but to hide the hideous sight of this broken, used woman. He wouldn't want me. No one would ever want me now. Even I didn't want myself.

Finding my husband kneeling before me, I bravely stole a glimpse of him. The sight of his hand lifting made my reflexes react quickly; my arms hovering above my head to meet whatever he intended to use his hand for. I was afraid. So frightened of my own husband.

I learned soon enough, there was nothing to be afraid of. He brushed away my tears and wiped away the blood stain from the corner of my mouth down to my chin, and for a second, as I noticed his brows bent in confusion, I sensed that he was worried about me. I knew he wanted to tell me something, but the quiver in his jaw and the tears he fought back were enough to ruin his pride. As a man, he regained himself, and as he stood hovering above my pathetic state, his shadow consuming me, making me even smaller than I already felt, his gaze hardened, his jaw clenched with anger.

The white rose bud that he drowned in the crimson red color of my sin was pulled out of his pocket, and I watched my husband bring it close to his lips, then crush it brutally within his palm. The flowing petals falling to the ground gave off a sense of death, like I could feel myself being crushed within my husband's grasp.

As the petals fell apart… so did I.

With one last disdainful look at me, he left me all alone with the heavy burden of my sin.

~o~

**Author's Note: Please don't flame me for writing a rape scene… It was incredibly painful for me to write this chapter. But writing it helped me let go of some of my own emotions… You can voice your thoughts, even if it's negative, but please don't be mean with your words in your review. I'd really appreciate people who understand…**

**~Aoi.**


	5. Defeat

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note: **Look, dear reader, as I already warned you beforehand in the first chapter, this story will contain Meyer's characters who will be out of character, for I'll be showing the dark sides to them. If you can't accept seeing the characters acting vindictive, then you should seriously drop this story. No one's forcing you to read it. And if you didn't read the warning, that's your problem. Each and every note of mine is crucial, for it contains warnings that need to be heeded.

**~Chapter Five~**

**_Defeat_**

Numb. Void. Empty. Nothing. Hollow. Words weren't enough to describe my state of being alive, yet in some way, not completely so. Like a vampire who still seeks life in the light, perhaps. Someone who has the capability to live, yet always lurks in the shadows.

After yesterday's despicable, atrocious events that transpired in this very mansion, there was nothing left for me to do but ponder what will happen next. For days, I stayed locked up in my room, afraid to go anywhere else, terrified of seeing my husband, fearful of having to undergo such destructive means to break me more than I already was. I didn't even dare call my lover.

~o~

One night, too hungry to stay locked up in my room, I took the courage to go to the kitchen, but the main door was unlocking, and the stench of alcohol pervaded the air, my husband's drunken form slumping forward, hands fumbling for something to hold on to, until finally, he crashed into me, my body tumbling onto the floor, with him above me.

"Huh," he slurred, "my wife came outsa greet me. Dyu wanna know where I jus' came from?"

I stayed silent, his body blocking my lungs to breathe properly, my heart racing for fear of another punishment of his.

"Came from three fuckin' pussies tonight!"

I could have guessed that part. It was no surprise. Every night, he's been coming home this drunk, and always reeking of different kinds of perfume, the fragrances of high-end prostitutes lingering on his skin, while the strong smell of alcohol stuck to his breath.

As he struggled to get back on his feet, I myself straightened up, a little relieved to find him too drunk to do anything. His body was at its limit, I knew, and he'd be passing out soon. Expecting him to turn to our room, a slight gasp escaped my lips as I felt my back pressed up against the wall, his body blocking mine, leaving no way to escape as his hands rested against the wall on either side of my head.

His breath was so close to my neck, the warmth not at all comforting, but more of threatening, like his breath alone could turn into acid and make my skin sizzle from the fires of hell. His words, straining to get out in his drunken state, replayed in my ears over and over again for the next several nights.

"But do you know something, my dear adulterous wife?"

His hands turned to fists and slammed against the surface behind me, the sound reverberating in my ears, the sudden gesture making my body jump in surprise, my eyes shut at the possibility of getting hurt physically. Seconds passed and taking the courage, my eyes flitted open very carefully, too scared of finding him waiting for my eyes to meet his. But his head still hung low, his breath now grazing my cheek.

"Even if I try to get even and I beat you at your own game, nothing changes. Nothing! Nothing makes any goddamn difference!"

His breathing slowed, and it seemed like he was catching his composure while trying to form his next words that came out a little more calmly than his outburst a few seconds before.

"It doesn't make me feel any better, nor does it make me feel good about myself. And do you know why?"

He lifted his head to level his eyes with mine. A sense of clarity sparked in those mesmerizing blue orbs of his, and his body lifted itself off of mine. Turning around, he took a few steps forward and kept going, until finally, he spoke up once again, his feet never stopping in their tracks. Without facing back to me, he completed his sentence in a low murmur, intended only for me to hear.

"Because doing it doesn't bring me any closer to you."

Sober, yes, he was sober when he said those last words.

The guilt couldn't have done more damage to me than right then, as my husband's slouched form retreated to the refuge of our bedroom, his head hung low, shoulders drooped, as if all his energy had been drained from him, and I knew it was all my fault.

This relationship turned sour all because of me. I was slowly killing him as well in the process of killing this relationship.

Giving in to the sparks of electricity jolting my heart with sharp intensity, I surrendered and crouched low with my back sliding down the wall, pulling my head in close to my chest as my hands scratched vehemently above my breast, nails not halting until blood from my insignia appeared and I felt instant relief at the reminder that I could never change who I was.

I was his adulterous wife, just as the letter on my chest signified.

~o~

_'What could I do to make him win?' _I thought to myself as I absentmindedly let my hands do their task.

Moving back to admire my work, I then nodded, convinced that I did a decent job with the ropes tied around the two bed posts with a hoop hanging from it.

Hearing the lock of the main door unlatch, I went out of my room to greet him. As I expected, he was inebriated. His eyes narrowed at the sight of me, and I recognized confusion and suspicion in his eyes. He was struggling to keep standing on his feet, so with my help, I led him to my room. Once in there, I leaned against his body, my hands working on his belt. Sliding it off, I then wrapped it once around his hand and made sure he was clutching onto it before moving away.

If he really wanted me to be punished for my infidelity, then he should do it on his own against me. Not through Victoria, not through those three men. I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to punish me directly.

He watched me with intent curiosity as I then slipped my hands and feet into the loops of the ropes then grabbed onto the strong, rough material connected to the bed posts. Bending over a little, I then offered my bare bottom to my husband.

Turning my face around at his inaction, I then told him, "Do it."

His eyes gazed into mine, apparent that he was still at a loss, his brain too slow to register and comprehend what I wanted him to do in his intoxicated state.

"Hurt me, Emmett. Hurt me as much as I hurt you."

My husband studied me intently, weighing the sincerity in my words, his drunken brain probably trying to separate reality and imagination.

"Do it, Emmett. **_Punish_** me."

[Emmett]

At the word 'punish,' something snapped me from my drunken stupor and before I could control my hand, I had lifted it, then brought it down with the anger I felt that now once again rushed to the surface, the emotion that I kept trying to repress with alcohol each and every fucking night.

The sound of the belt hitting bare skin brought me back to reality for a single second, but the feeling of my anger being released was so satisfying, so relieving, that without thinking twice that this was my wife I was hurting, I did it over and over again. Hit the bare ass in front of me that was now beautifully reddening. A sense of pride and egoistic achievement filled me up inside and before I knew it, I positioned the destination of the belt to the other round ass cheek. It was just fair for both to have equal treatment.

Beautiful. Just beautiful. This fair, flawless skin needed such imperfections for once. Maybe even more than once.

[_Rosalie_]

Withholding my tears, I clutched the ropes tighter, bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, taking in the sinking anger of my husband through the burning sensation of the belt's harsh blows on my bare skin.

I wanted to feel it. Feel his anger. Feel him. Have him exact his punishment on my skin, wanting nothing more but to receive the hatred that I so well deserved. This is what I deserved. This was mine alone.

The continuous strokes of the belt repeatedly hitting me were scorching hot, like a small blazing flame lit against my flesh, dulling, extinguishing quickly, just to be inflamed once more by the next blow. The physical pain was bearable, but the hurt my husband kept within him was suffocating me, strangling my neck like a rope tied around it, tightening every second.

As the end of the belt suddenly hit my bare back, I stifled the surprised whimper that rose up in my throat, trying to keep in any sounds that would prevent Emmett from going full out on me. Having my back beaten by the belt as well, my arms and the back of my thighs were next.

Hearing the belt hit the ground, I waited. And when nothing happened, I turned around to face him, but as soon as I met his glare, his bare hand swept across the soreness of my backside in a forceful smack, and that was the first time I let out any sound of pain, a pathetic whimper like a frightened, cowering animal, my face forced back front.

"Look at me," he ordered.

And so I did. Turning my face to the side once again, I met his gaze, watching and anticipating until he finally lifted his hand and directed it to painfully land on the sweltering ache of my backside. For a second, I felt frightened to find bruises later on. From the throbbing ache, I was certain it would bruise and leave a mark for a while.

Screaming and crying silently in my head, I counted ten smacks of his bare hand on the swelling, aching soreness to concentrate on something other than the raw onset of bruises.

"Get on the bed, face me."

Struggling to straighten my posture, then letting go of the ropes, taking my hands and feet out of the loops, I then crawled up onto my bed, slowly and carefully turning over onto my behind, the soft cushion of the bed sheet not at all diminishing the sore ache but rather, inflaming it more. Sitting in the middle of the bed with my knees up, close to my chest, my arms leaning back behind me, my hands clutching onto the bed sheet, I looked at him and waited.

"Spread your legs."

Hesitantly, I did as he commanded. Before I could wonder what he'd do, the end of the belt landed with a loud blow against my bare pussy. With a shriek, I clamped my legs together instinctively.

Anger and annoyance flashed across my husband's face, but his next order was calmly conveyed though his voice was tight and strained. "Keep them spread."

It was difficult to. Every time the belt hit my clit, my legs thrashed of their own accord, my thighs flexing up, pushing against each other at the sharp impact of the stiff material landing on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Growing impatient with my inability to follow his orders, my husband grabbed me by my ankle, pulled me brusquely to the edge of the bed and briskly trapped my ankles in the hoops of the ropes I just had my wrists in. The limited space didn't allow my legs to fully clench close together, so with each blow of the belt, he successfully inflicted the succeeding one without pausing, causing my clit to redden and sting even more.

Keeping my hands over my eyes that were shut tight, I endured the stinging sensation tingling all over my body, the burning marks of each blow of the belt on my skin, clenching my teeth in agony, forcing my mouth shut as I suffered from my restrained misery, my tears sliding down the sides of my face, falling into the messy tangles of my blonde hair.

Suddenly, minutes passed in silence, so I bravely opened my eyes and removed my hands blocking my sight. My husband was pushing off my feet from the ropes that held my ankles, letting my legs fall over the edge of the bed, my feet landing unceremoniously against the floor.

"Stand."

It seemed like an eternity as he stared into my tear-glazed eyes. We said nothing. No words were exchanged. All I heard was our ragged breathing, the exertion of the punishment clearly took a toll on both of us.

As I admired the clarity in those bright, transparent blue crystals orbs of his, thousands of questions ran through my mind. What was he thinking? What was he seeing? What did he see in me now? What does he think of his wife now?

Without thinking, words slipped off my lips.

"Slap me."

Reluctance was apparent in his eyes. I knew he didn't want to. But I wanted him to. I wanted him to hurt me even more. My husband's hand lifted up to caress my cheek, the warmth of his palm so reassuring, so mild, so innocent. But the quick slap across my cheek was nothing of the sort.

"Do it again."

The second time he did, my tears finally slid down my cheeks. I couldn't keep them in any longer. It hurt. It hurt. I was hurting. But so was he.

"Again."

The third time, he lifted his hand and slapped me with no restraint. Hard, but not hard enough for me to fall to my feet. I felt pathetic for crying. I was weak. So weak.

His hand caressed the swelling of my cheek and I cupped his hand with mine, holding onto it so tightly to keep my sanity.

"Look at me."

I didn't want to. I didn't want to see his reaction to this.

"Look at me."

The gruffness in his voice compelled me to force my eyes open, finally lifting them to meet his.

I expected nothing from him. No reaction. No pity. No compassionate feelings whatsoever. What completely took me aback was the myriad array of emotions displayed in his eyes, forcefully held back by his pride. Anger, hurt, unreleased tears.

Even though he won, even though he finally got to hurt me, he didn't look satisfied. Didn't look like he won. Curiously, he looked more defeated than ever.

Defeated. We were both defeated. No one won. No one would ever win. This pain was both ours.

As he turned and left without a word, I felt my whole world crash, the sight of my defeated husband imprinted on my pained heart which now slowly rotted away in its broken, dying state.

~o~

**Author's Note: Three more chapters to go. Please do leave a review… The next update will depend on the feedback I get. But I'll most probably post another chapter before September ends.**

**~Aoi.**


	6. Memories

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**~Chapter Six~**

**_Memories_**

The soft rumbling and rough crackling of thunder was loud enough to be heard in the distance, but my focus was somewhere else.

_'I want to die. I want to die. I want to escape, disappear.'_

These thoughts went through my mind as I repeatedly let the shard of glass slide down my forearm, my sight blurring before me, my heart's ache throbbing excruciatingly against my chest, my mind blacking out, the slashes across my arms numbing me, my soul, my spirit.

He's done it. He's proven and shown me who I was.

I was disgusted with myself. To the point that my existence was something not to be proud of, but something to be utterly ashamed of.

I wanted to die. I didn't deserve to be living. To still be under the roof of his great-grandmother's home, to still have this opportunity to be in close proximity to his presence that I was undeserving of.

Tears silently rolled down my cheeks, and I suppressed my sobs, worried that I might wake the sleeping figure sprawled on our marital bed. As I watched him sleep in his peaceful slumber, flashbacks of the night we first met and snippets of how we ended up together crossed my mind.

~o~

_"Miss Rosalie Cullen?"_

_The laughing blonde female in the midst of four more females surrounding her on their 'exclusive for socialites' table looked up as her name was announced._

_"What do you want?" she snapped, a little annoyed that the bartender came over to disturb the fun little session she was having with her female companions._

_"This drink is compliments of that gentleman at the far end of the bar," the male bartender that was now also serving as a waiter explained._

_The young lady annoyingly turned around to see this "gentleman" who probably thought that one single drink would help him get her into bed with him. It was always the same scene. Partying out somewhere, finding a nice spot in the bar or club, having a hot guy who had to be in the same social circle as you hit on you, you hit it off right away, sparks are seen in between drunkenness and you end up in a hotel for a quick one-night stand. And the next week, when you cross each other's paths in broad daylight in a state of sobriety, you pretend like nothing intimate between you ever happened._

_This was the usual lifestyle of this young, elegant, radiant blonde beauty who would've, on any other day, be eager to get this meeting with the perfect, rich stranger over with, but today was different. She wanted something different. After all, she wasn't getting any younger. And the same scene over and over again since she was eighteen was quite tiresome._

_Directing an annoyed look toward the generous man who was "wasting his time," as Rosalie thought, she found herself immediately turning her exhausted look into a smile at the unexpected sight of the one man she wouldn't mind receiving drinks from the entire night until he took her home._

_Looking back at the waiter, Rosalie then took the drink from the tray he still held before her and said a polite "Thank you" before he turned and left. Her gaze was now at the man making his way toward their table, while Rosalie was already excusing herself from her group of jealous admirers who she knew were only desperate to be friends with her to climb the social ladder in their circle faster._

_"From the reaction I saw from you, you weren't quite pleased to receive my drink," the blonde man, who had the same striking features on his flawless face as the young lady herself, said quietly, a little smile forming on the corner of his lips, amusement gleaming in his brown eyes._

_"If I knew it was from you, I would've never had that expression on my face," Rosalie countered. "What is the CEO of Tech and Coms doing here?" she then asked._

_"Why, what else? To greet my wonderful baby sister happy birthday, of course."_

_Arms opened in a welcoming embrace and the blonde beauty stepped into her older brother's arms. The familiar scent of her brother lifted Rosalie's crashing spirit, this day being a little too depressing for her. She hated birthdays. She didn't want to age, grow old, and worse of all, look old._

_"I missed you so, Jasper. You've been so busy, I thought you would forget my birthday," Rosalie admitted, her hands clutching onto the front of her brother's suit._

_"You've been feeling quite lonely, haven't you, sis?" Jasper asked, tightening his arms around his younger sister. "I should try to spend more time with you and Bella. I'm so sorry, lovely."_

_Shaking her head, Rosalie said, "I understand how busy a CEO is, so it's all right. How is your wife? How come Alice didn't come with you?"_

_"Ah, Fashion Week's about to come up. You know how busy she gets before that," Jasper said in answer to his sister's question._

_Rosalie nodded in return. "Yes, of course, I understand."_

_"But she sends her love," Jasper added with a smile, which Rosalie immediately returned, before he continued, "and she wanted me to give you this – a birthday present." From the inner pocket of Jasper's suit, a tiny box was pulled out, and within its protection, two garnet stones studded in white gold earrings came into view as the slender fingers of the birthday celebrant opened its case._

_"My birthstone. How thoughtful of her. It's beautiful. Please thank her for me. And tell her I can't wait to see her during Fashion Week," Rosalie told her brother cheerfully, carefully replacing her earrings with the gift of Alice._

_"About that," Jasper started, remembering the message of his wife that was to be passed on to Rosalie, "she'd like you to be one of her models. She told me she was one model short, and you know she's very fond of you and finds you extremely perfect as a model for her designs."_

_With incredulous eyes and utter disbelief but greatly pleased at the opportunity, Rosalie chattered away in excitement, "Oh God, tell her I'd be honored to! My sister-in-law is so perfect. I was never against her to lose my big brother to."_

_At that, Jasper gave out a small chuckle and kissed his younger sister's forehead. "I've missed you so much too, lovely. I don't know if it's possible, but I think you're becoming more beautiful each day."_

_The teasing yet sincere compliment made the young woman smile. Remembering her sister-in-law, Mary Alice Brandon, now Cullen, Rosalie then remarked quietly, "I wish I could also have what you found in Alice."_

_The oldest of the three Cullen children, born to Carlisle and Esme Cullen, Jasper, being four years older than Rosalie and being a big brother who was quite protective over both his younger sisters, almost instantly noted the sad longing in Rosalie's tone._

_"One day, lovely. You'll find it too," he reassured her lightly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. To lighten his sister's mood, he then said, "Wanna see my present? I made sure it matched Alice's."_

_From the front pocket of his vest under the jacket of his suit, Jasper pulled out a white gold chain that held an uncut garnet stone, its sharp edges reminding Rosalie of the dangerous thorns on a rose, the flower that people always used to describe her beauty. It suited her, she thought, and gave her brother a kiss on his cheek at the perfect representation of who she was, shown through her birthstone that now rested between her collarbones._

_As Rosalie admired her new earrings and her necklace in her compact mirror, her older brother stated uneasily, "I… have another gift…"_

_Wary of her brother's tone, Rosalie looked up and waited for him to finish what he had begun to say. "It's from our baby sister."_

_At that, Rosalie let out an exasperated sigh to which Jasper eyed her curiously. "You're still not talking to her?"_

_"I will never talk to her," Rosalie furiously and bitterly spat out._

_The twenty-seven-year-old CEO glanced worriedly at his sister, but knowing better than to push the subject, he just asked the mildest question he could think of in the current situation, "You don't want to see her present then?"_

_"What is it?" Rosalie asked, excitement completely nonexistent in her voice._

_"A bracelet. That, coincidentally, matches well to my gift and that of Alice."_

_"So you went to the Rehab Center today?" Rosalie inquired._

_"She got out this morning, so, yes. I brought her back to her house," Jasper answered as he busily clasped the bracelet over Rosalie's right wrist._

_"I see…"_

_Long after her brother had left and her leeching "friends" had too much to drink, thus making it time for them to go back home, Rosalie finally sat alone at the bar, her vodka martini before her still untouched. A few minutes later as the young lady took the final sip of her drink and was about to step off the barstool, deciding that she'd call it a night, a voice called her back._

_"Rough night?"_

_Swiveling the stool around to the voice, Rosalie met the familiar face smiling at her. "You're the one who brought me that drink."_

_"Yes, I most certainly am. How come you weren't pleased to be getting a drink?"_

_Rosalie sighed, her finger tracing the rim of the empty glass before her, and before she could stop herself, responded, "Men think that one drink can help them get me into their bed."_

_"Well, doesn't it?"_

_Eyes widening, Rosalie sent an indignant look toward the bartender who was still smiling knowingly at her._

_"I've seen you here tons of times before, but tonight was the only time I ever saw you up close. I must say, I'm not surprised that so many men are willing to spend so much on drinks. They must be pretty damn desperate to get your attention. I don't think there's a man who can catch your attention easily at all, without any pathetic, flimsy attempts like buying you a drink," he explained._

_Not sure whether he meant it as a compliment or as in insult that she was an "easy" woman who left with every man whoever offered her a drink, Rosalie spun around and finally stepped off the pedestal._

_"Can I buy you a drink?"_

_"You must be incredibly desperate to use that on me," Rosalie stated haughtily, her voice filled with contempt as she pulled on her white fur coat over the black seductive sheath that showed off her bare back and had a very enticing, low, dropping neckline, showing an ample amount of cleavage. "Besides, I think you might have a better chance with me if you weren't offering to buy me a drink while you're on your shift. That would be cheating since you wouldn't have to pay for it. I don't like people who cheat just to get to me."_

_"Well, isn't buying you a drink a little like cheating, letting the drink talk for them? If they were sincere about wanting to strike up a conversation with you, wouldn't they just go up to you and talk? And then afterwards, offer you that drink? Or are the gentlemen in your social circle somewhat cowardly?"_

_Spinning around, the annoyed young woman already losing her patience, she lowered her voice as much as she could and lectured the young man without drawing the attention of other customers nearby, "Listen, bartender. I didn't come here to be insulted on my birthday. And insulting the people in my social circle is indirectly insulting me. As for your offer, I don't want that drink and I certainly don't want you."_

_Dumbfounded and amused by the feisty behavior of the young woman in front of him, all the bartender could do was stare at the way Rosalie huffed in frustration then breathed out in relief as she composed herself. A very calm and poised lady on the outside, but a fiery, brave personality to go along hand-in-hand with the divine beauty of heaven itself, the young man was immediately drawn to the fair-haired angel that had seemingly graced his life with her angelic presence._

_"Hey, Em, you're off! Don't go overtime, man. Manager won't pay you even if you put in extra hours!"_

_"I got it. Thanks, Riley!"_

_The irate beauty composed herself and took deep breaths before sitting back down onto the barstool. Coming from behind the counter, the bartender whose shift was now seemingly over, took his seat beside her, his smile still not wiped off his face, clearly pleased about something._

_He held out his hand for a handshake but the young woman simply ignored it. Instead of getting offended, he held his hand to his chest to gesture to himself. "Emmett McCarty. Pleased to meet you. And I apologize if I offended you in any way. It wasn't my intention, Miss Cullen."_

_Rosalie finally looked up and found herself a little too stunned to silence as she observed the very unusual childlike features on this grown man's face. What especially drew her in instantly were those crystal clear orbs of his, a very light shade of blue, his soul so open and unashamedly displayed before her in those bright eyes of his. Neatness was seen in the way the curls of his black hair was kept in place, pride presented in his square jawline, defiance showed in his brows, but kindness manifested in his smile, his dimples prompting anyone to smile with him._

_'Funny how I missed all those entrancing features on that beautiful heart-shaped face of his when he was serving me Jasper's drink,' Rosalie thought to herself. 'Then again, the lighting in here is very dim.'_

_Her eyes drifted down to admire his build. Still in his bartender uniform, the crisp white shirt hugged the muscles on his shoulders and arms remarkably; the black vest over it outlining his broad torso down to his narrow hips, and the black slacks he wore looked absolutely gorgeous, fitted perfectly to his long legs, and from what Rosalie saw before, she assumed his height to be more than six feet._

_Snapping out of her admiration of a stranger's face and body build, Rosalie blinked innocently, trying to recall what he had just uttered. Emmett McCarty… Not recognizing the surname, she commented frankly but with no rudeness attached, "You're not from my social circle."_

_"I most certainly am not," he replied with honest pride._

_"I don't date men outside of my circle," Rosalie continued, testing what Emmett's reaction would be to someone as high-maintenance as her who had high expectations of the men she dated._

_Emmett studied the appearance of the blonde beauty before him. Rosalie Cullen, at twenty-four, was a very appealing young woman, desire exuding from every curve of her body, sexuality and sensuality both present in the way she moved, the way she conversed, the way she held herself in public._

_A small ounce of stubborn defiance in the slight cleft of her chin, a sense of superiority in the way she held her chin high, the fine straight line of her nose and the contours of her cheekbones speaking of her pride of her status in society, calm confidence in the length of her brows, carefully lined and curved with meticulous precision, and sensuous lips from which the enthralling tone of her voice emerged – it all captivated Emmett's attention easily, all on a lovely, round, fair, flawless face._

_With the right amount of make-up, Rosalie's beauty was amplified, from the light eye shadow accentuating the deep shade of blue in her eyes, to the dark eyeliner and black curl to her long lashes, outlining and highlighting the exquisite shape of her eyes, to the shy pink blush on her cheeks, emphasizing her pale skin; add to that the redness of her lips that looked as inviting as a freshly harvested ripe strawberry._

_Her golden hair, magnificently styled up with half of its length while the remaining half cascaded down her back in gentle waves shone with the same lustrous iridescence of a precious pearl._

_The red garnet stones embedded in Rosalie's jewelry caught Emmett's gaze. Then it dropped down to the floor-length dress she was donning. A little disappointed that she was already wearing her fur coat, covering her bare back that he enjoyed the sight of, Emmett's eyes drifted down the front of her gown, her breasts boldly drawing his attention to them._

_Further down, her black heels strapped delicately across her dainty feet, Emmett noted that nothing on this woman stated 'simple.' Everything about her was extravagant. Seemingly vain and superficial, but all Emmett saw was pure, polished female sophistication. Add to that her feisty spirit, Emmett was pointblank spellbound and definitely attracted._

_On the counter, next to the empty vodka martini that she had just consumed, was her black purse, sprinkled with tiny diamonds just like her dress was._

_With a nod, Emmett finally responded, "A woman of your status most probably doesn't."_

_"And I certainly don't date bartenders," Rosalie added, a little mischievous smile forming on her lips._

_"Oh, that, I know," Emmett said with full certainty as he mirrored the same smirk on Rosalie's lips._

_Something about the man's high-spirited attitude intrigued the young woman. To think that he knew the social gap between the two of them yet not making a big deal out of it was something new to Rosalie. Men outside her social circle wouldn't even dare speak to her._

_"Well, my shift's over, so I don't think this offer would be cheating," Emmett began, "would you care for a drink, Miss Cullen?"_

_Rosalie's smile widened and she shook her head at the outrageous advances this man was making on her. He was fearless of rejection, confident in his advances and someone who obviously knew how to use the charm he possessed. And he was a very interesting man, indeed… Not at all like the gentlemen in her social circle who either treated her with too much politeness or treated her as if she was someone who intimidated them, thus making her lose her interest in them very quickly._

_With an amused smile still fixed upon her lips, she decided, "Sure, it wouldn't hurt, would it?"_

_Emmett grinned. "That's up to you to decide."_

_He always had something to say, and that was something Rosalie found very witty. And the fact that he left it up to her to decide whether or not she'd enjoy the time she was about to spend with him was refreshing. Men would invite her out for dinner and if they even noted one slight bout of reluctance from her during her decision, they'd convince her that she would have a great time. Most of those times, she never did._

_"Hey, Tom! I'll have an Aristocrat Tequila, straight up. And for the lady…"_

_A slight glance was all that it took for Rosalie to understand that Emmett was giving her the choice of choosing her own drink. Turning to the bartender awaiting her order, she sweetly and confidently said, "Same for me, please."_

_Honest surprise and amused curiosity appeared on Emmett's face. "How courageous," he commented, considering the shot was quite strong._

_Rosalie, turning her gaze to Emmett, a knowing smile on her lips, said in return, "I know how to handle my alcohol. Don't think me a weak woman."_

_Amused, Emmett stated, "It would've never come to mind, Angel. Your presence alone is quite domineering."_

_With her mouth agape in pleasant surprise, Rosalie asked with incredulous eyes, "Did you just call me "Angel'?"_

_Emmett's eyes locked onto hers, he then said sincerely, "You're as beautiful as."_

_Flattered at the compliment, a slight blush spread across Rosalie's cheeks. Certainly used to receiving and hearing plenty of compliments and praise, Rosalie was intrigued that his admiring comment of her being as beautiful as an angel thoroughly surprised her. That, undoubtedly, was a first._

_Still in a flattered daze with an amused smile on her face, Rosalie refuted with all honesty, "I'm no angel, believe me."_

_"That's for me to decide now, is it?" Emmett countered, his gaze drifting to the wide smile on her face that he began to admire._

_With her smile still not wiped off, Rosalie remarked, "I can't believe you. You're so… so yourself."_

_"What would you know about who or how I am?" Emmett asked, curious to know what the young lady already thought of him._

_"No, I just mean, you're not afraid to be yourself around me. I can tell you're not acting at all," Rosalie expounded._

_With a light chuckle, Emmett said in response, "Angel, I have no acting skills. And why, pray tell, should I be someone else around you?"_

_Rosalie sighed before explaining. "The men I've been with have always either stuttered in my presence or were way too polite, like a woman like me didn't know how to have fun. They always treated me like a fragile doll and showered me with presents and riches. I'm quite sick and tired of always being treated like a child who needed protection twenty-four-seven."_

_An idea forming in Emmett's head, he then asked, "Do you know how to have fun then, Miss Cullen?"_

_Feeling that 'Miss Cullen' was too formal with the way they've been conversing for quite some time now, Rosalie requested politely, "Please, use my name."_

_Happily giving in to her to her request, Emmett asked once more, "Do you know how to have fun, Rosalie…?"_

_The minute her name rolled off his lips, her breath hitched and was caught in her throat. Something about the way he said her name thoroughly surprised her. With a sense of reverence, he uttered her name like he was extremely grateful to God that she allowed him to call her by her precious name._

_Emmett had stepped off his stool and was leaning his face close to hers, waiting for an answer._

_"P-perhaps…" Seemingly now, it was her turn to stutter. Exactly what kind of effect did Emmett have on her?_

_Downing the Tequila that was served before them, Emmett then spoke after biting on the slice of lemon, "Drink up, Angel. Imma take you to a place where we'll see if you really know how to have fun."_

_Emmett had to suppress the urge to smile at the way Rosalie delicately dipped her finger in the small porcelain saucer containing the salt, then resisted the urge to stare as her tongue darted out to lick it off her finger. Bravely, Rosalie drank down the liquor in one go, her hand immediately reaching for the slice of lemon she bit down on to suppress the rich scent of the alcohol and the strong aftertaste of the tequila._

~o~

_"There's no way I'm going to do that!" Standing at the top of the snowy hill, Rosalie shouted to the man who was now sliding off the wooden sled to lie in the snow._

_"Come on, Angel. You won't know how much fun it is until you experience it," Emmett shouted back, sitting up in the snow, watching the young blonde woman trying to take her seat on the wooden sledge._

_Chuckling at the sight of the woman trying her utmost best to still look poised as she took her seat on the sled with the difficulty of her dress, Emmett thought to himself that she was a wonderful sight of an independent woman. And that was one thing he wanted in a woman. Independence. Someone he could protect from the shadows. Someone who he could appear for whenever she called for him._

_"Come on! Slide down! Don't worry; the snow will cushion your fall, if ever you manage to fall off the sled!" Emmett teased. "I'll catch you, Angel. Trust in me."_

_Rosalie took one last look at the steep hill in front of her, and, clutching tightly onto the front of the sled, pushed it off the hill and kept her eyes closed as the feeling of slanting forward filled her, her dread turning into a feeling of freedom. As she opened her eyes, she already found herself at the bottom of the hill, the sled already coming to a stop. Feeling that that was too short, she went and tried it multiple times, bravely keeping her eyes open those next several tries._

_'Will you give me the honor of riding with me?" Emmett asked her at her nth time to take it down the hill. Nodding, she waited until he took his seat behind her._

_Reaching from behind, Emmett rested his hands on the front of the sled, his arms grazing her thighs, making Rosalie aware of the intimate proximity they had. To add to the fun she was having, Emmett steered the sled with his feet from left to right as they slid downhill. At the bottom, the sled turned over to its side, its passengers tumbling over it onto the snow._

_Rosalie's body slightly covered Emmett's. Laughter and ragged breathing filled the echoing distance._

_With Rosalie's laughter ringing in his ears, Emmett's hands clasped the back of her head, knowing she wasn't hurt, but still making sure she was all right. "We're both right. You're not fragile at all, Angel. And you definitely know fun."_

_Rosalie lifted her face inches away from the young man's and as he spoke his next words; his clear, bright eyes bore into her deep blue ones._

_"You're fed up with the way men have been treating you. You want someone who will let you do things on your own, the way you want it. Not follow everything as it is already laid out in front of you with guides and directions. You like making your own decisions, your own mistakes. You like learning from them. You want to learn. Not just be taught. You're a very strong-spirited and strong-willed person. But though you already know all that, you still want someone to care for you when your world comes crashing down. Am I not right, Angel?"_

_The stunned silence was taken by Emmett as a 'yes.' A complacent grin appeared upon his lips. "I think I am."_

_Riveted by his insight and by the confident way he shared it, Rosalie asked, "What makes you think your presumptions are correct?"_

_Chuckling, Emmett told her, "I have my own ways of understanding women, love."_

_Inches were breached, the gap was broken, and those full lips as red as ripe strawberries that tasted of them as well, landed softly against lips that spoke words of truth about the woman whose lips now lifted off them._

_Slowly withdrawing, Rosalie, a little embarrassed at being the one who initiated the kiss, leant her head down against Emmett's chest._

_With a low chuckle, Emmett whispered, "Lucky me. I got to taste an angel's lips."_

_Minutes were spent in silence, and as Rosalie listened intently to Emmett's heartbeat, wanting to memorize the speed and tempo it was making at that very moment, she tried to hide the feeling of excitement that she was sure was about to burst from her chest. It was the very first time for her to feel this way with a man. It was so different with him than with any other man she's ever been with._

_Inside Emmett's car, the visible gap of their social life was there again. Rosalie couldn't even recognize the brand of his car and was a little embarrassed as she asked what it was._

_Driving up to the Cullen mansion, the gap between them dawned upon Emmett once more and the silent comparison between the enormous structure before his very eyes and his small apartment that he rented went through his mind. Instead of making a joke and be nonchalant about the young lady's apparent riches like he did in the bar, he said nothing about her home. Even he himself, though he didn't want to admit, was overwhelmed by the regal manor right in front of him._

_Standing before the main door, Emmett tried to break the uneasy atmosphere since Rosalie asked the brand of his car. "By the way, who was the man who sent you a drink tonight?"_

_"That was my older brother. Jasper Cullen, CEO of Tech and Coms," Rosalie said in reply._

_"No way! Your brother is the Chief Executive Officer of Technology and Communications?"_

_The astonishment in Emmett's voice and facial expression caused the young woman to study him a little closer._

_"Hmm, you've really never heard of the Cullen family before, have you?"_

_Emmett gave out a small laugh. "Angel, I rarely read the news, and I have no interest in celebrities."_

_With an eyebrow raised, Rosalie asked, "What makes you think we're celebrities?"_

_"Aren't socialites nearly the same thing?" Emmett asked in return, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth._

_Shaking her head at his wittiness, Rosalie chuckled. "What makes you think I'm a socialite?"_

_Emmett pressed further with certainty, his smile widening, "Well, aren't you?"_

_Once again, he was spot on. Rosalie could barely keep her smile to herself. She thought that she must've been grinning like a fool by then. This man was good at reading her, and she was ultimately excited and definitely fascinated by it._

_"Good night, Mr. McCar–"_

_"Emmett."_

_"Good night, Emmett…"_

_"Good night, Angel. Have sweet dreams."_

_With one last chaste kiss on her cheek, Emmett turned and left her by the front door that was now being opened by the loyal butler who's served the Cullen family for over thirty years. "Good evening, Mademoiselle. Welcome back home."_

_Rosalie could barely move from her spot. Her breath had been taken away by the exhilarating night she had just spent with the perfect stranger. The depressing start of her twenty-fourth birthday ended perfectly with the meeting of a god she had already begun to idolize._

_If to him, she was his angel, then to her, he was her god._

_Every night since then, Rosalie waited for Emmett's shift to be over and they'd spend the rest of the night having fun in the same playground they visited on their first encounter._

_During his day-offs, he'd bring her to concerts of his favorite bands, and those times, Rosalie always dressed down. It was her first time to wear jeans when Emmett gifted them to her on Valentine's Day. Just what she wanted, he gave it to her. To be free, feel free, feel like her own in her own skin, have fun and let her hair down. These things, she could do with Emmett alone._

_'Maybe men treat you so much like a fragile woman because you're always clad in expensive gowns, Angel,' he had told her when she opened the very unusual Valentine's gift._

_When Emmett disappeared for two weeks in April, Rosalie's world turned upside down. Filled with worry and doubt that she wasn't enough or what he wanted in a woman, Rosalie spent her days and nights haunted by ridiculous possibilities that infected her mind, making her self-esteem as low as it has ever gotten._

_Calling the bar he worked at every day, Rosalie gave up on the seventh night. Luckily, she was informed by the manager that Emmett was back after two weeks._

_Standing before his exhausted appearance, Rosalie waited for a well-deserved explanation._

_"Angel, I'm sorry. I just found out two weeks ago that my great-grandmother is alive when she came down to the bar and asked for me. I learned of a family feud that's been going on and kept from me between my grandfather and his mother. Seemingly, she wants me to take over the family business. I stayed quiet about it because I didn't want you knowing about my possible inheritance…"_

_Confused, Rosalie asked, "Why…?"_

_Hesitantly, Emmett answered, "I didn't want you to stay with me just because of the possibility of me being rich."_

_His reasoning was a little insulting to Rosalie, and a tad ridiculous. Nevertheless, she wanted to understand, but she also wanted him to understand one very important matter._

_"Emmett… We've been dating for three months… Do you really think that I would've broken up with you just because you work as a bartender?"_

_That wasn't something Emmett was worried about. After all, she did go out with him for three months despite his job. What really bothered him was the huge social gap there was between them. And with her knowing of his possible inheritance, all she might do is rely on the money, and no longer on him, no longer concentrate on the happiness that he could bring her without the riches._

_"I'm sorry for thinking that way but you have to understand… For someone as normal as me, I'm blessed to have you. Winning you over without riches was a great accomplishment I can say I'm proud of." A silent pause hung in the air before Emmett added, "You can have everything you want, Rose. Even the world at your feet. Why would you possibly want to stay with a man who can barely give you a decent gift on Valentine's Day?"_

_"I would rather receive jeans every Valentine's instead of the usual expensive chocolate, flowers and stuffed toy." The honest remark caused the serious male before Rosalie to smile. Urging on, Rosalie continued, "Emmett… I wanted you back then even when you didn't have much to spoil me with. The happiness you bring me with your simple gifts and the time you spend with me are worth more to me than the riches you'll possibly inherit. You've successfully made me fall in love with you for who you are. Not what you have in your bank account. And don't say that you're just a 'normal' person making me feel like I'm special. I'm no one special, Em–"_

_"You're special to me," Emmett interjected._

_"And so are you to me…" Rosalie whispered achingly, wishing Emmett could see how much he already meant to her in her life._

_Taking one step towards his angel, Emmett's hands landed on her waist as her hands rested against his chest that slowly slid up to his shoulders. With her gaze glued to his, Rosalie spoke tenderly, "Can't you see, Emmett? You make me feel special in your own ways. As you said, you have your own ways of understanding a woman. That, so far, goes the same, in my opinion, when it comes to loving a woman."_

_Winding his fingers through the beautiful gold strands of his angel, Emmett finally professed the love that he could barely contain, "I love you."_

_"I love you too, Emmett…"_

_That was the very first night Emmett finally took Rosalie to his bed. And the next day, Rosalie got the opportunity to meet the head of the McCarty family._

_On Rosalie's beauty, Miranda McCarty commented that "even though it's still snowing, when you entered the room, winter cowered back and made way for spring." She approved of Rosalie and even gave her and her great-grandson the special blessing to be married, although neither of them had that thought planted in mind yet at all._

_Emmett told Rosalie the history of the McCarty family which was once one of the most prominent families in society, just as the Cullens were right at the moment. His great-grandmother explained to them the truthful events that transpired back in the 60's to 70's that led his grandfather to hate her._

_As the old lady asked if Emmett's parents already approved of Rosalie, Emmett told her that she was the first to ever meet his girl. Emmett formed a strong bond with his great-grandmother, to which his grandfather and parents were a little jealous of, and even a little resentful of. But as Emmett repeatedly told them, his great-grandmother never did anything wrong to him._

_To exacerbate the problem of the family feud, the day Rosalie was presented to Emmett's relatives was a disaster. His father and grandfather both had their reservations when it came to socialites, their past after all affected so much by the social circle that Emmett's great-grandmother was in, which was the same social circle Rosalie belonged to._

_Emmett's mother, Renée, at least, was ecstatic for Emmett to have finally found a girl who didn't care if he was working as a mere bartender. That's when Rosalie found out that all his past girlfriends eventually broke up with him due to the fact that he didn't make as much money as they would've liked him to have._

_In October of that year, Emmett's great-grandmother passed away at the age of eighty-nine. And as she did, Emmett became the owner of several bars and restaurants that has always been under the McCarty name for several decades already._

_In Christmas 2009, that same year, when Dr. Cullen and his wife Esme came home for their yearly visit for Christmas and New Year, Rosalie introduced Emmett to them, whom they immediately approved of. Emmett also met Jasper, his wife Alice and Rosalie's younger sister, Isabella._

_All was well and to an even greater surprise, on Rosalie's twenty-fifth birthday on January seventeen of the next year, Emmett proposed with her birthstone studded in a white gold band as an engagement ring, completing the set of her garnet jewelry._

_In three months, in April, when spring's first blossoms thawed the final minutes of ice and snow, they were wed in the garden of Emmett's great-grandmother's mansion which they lived in from then on._

~o~

Hearing him shift on the bed, I stilled and even stopped breathing for a few seconds. I waited in the shadows, way back in my corner. He was stirring in his sleep, and his silhouette finally made me aware that he was awake, his body sitting up.

In the single second of the thunder flash lighting the darkness in our room, his eyes caught mine. He was staring directly at me, and with a hard swallow of my throat, I anticipated an outburst of anger or any kind of violence.

~o~

**Author's Note: Like in my other fanfic "The Only Way," this story will have two endings, which you can choose from. Chapter Seven will be the good ending, Chapter Eight the bad one. They'll be uploaded at the same time. Now, I'm still working on both endings, but I'll ****_try my very best_**** to upload them within the month of October, before school resumes for me in November.**

**Please leave me some love and review, would you, dear reader? I'd really appreciate it. Thankies!**

**~Aoi.**


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